


the rule of cool

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: Peter's latest D&D campaign just got a little too real.





	the rule of cool

**Author's Note:**

> spent the last week or so working on this. i'm glad i actually finished it and didn't just abandon it (as i was v tempted to do--the sagging middle is real, y'all). hope you enjoy. also never played d&d before, just did some research for this, so please don't judge me lol

FRIDAY

When Peter Parker leaves the premises of Midtown High School that bright Friday afternoon, there are only two things on his mind: the thrift store and his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

As he leaves the station after his short subway ride, there is an extra spring in his step as he walks to the end of the block. When the crosswalk sign turns green, he’s quick to cross, and soon his ears are filled with the sounds of the city: the  _whoosh_  of cars zooming past, the hum of the above-ground subway as it slides along the tracks. Peter grabs his iPod from his pocket and puts his earphones in. His playlist is on shuffle and the first song to greet him is the electronic rock so characteristic of Ratatat, and the smooth synths and electric guitar elicit a smile from the boy almost automatically. It feels like he’s in a movie. The breeze is cold against his face as he continues on down the street.

As he approaches the corner of the current street, he can see the windows of the thrift shop, and if he should gaze inside from there, he’d see the front half of the store, which houses most of the clothes (and he says “most of” because the baby clothes are kept near the back with the toys—yes, he’s got the layout of this store memorized. He’s been here enough times). But he doesn’t stop to look inside, for there’s no need, and walks past those windows and turns the corner. He’s quick to arrive at the entrance, where above the glass double doors hangs a neon sign, some of whose letters flicker intermittently, as though they may go out at any moment. They’ve been like that for a long while though, so perhaps they won’t go out. Those bulbs must be awfully resilient.

Peter’s well acquainted with this shop. It’s on his route home and besides the dumpsters, is a primary source for his retro tech. While finding things that still work is a toss-up when searching via dumpster diving, at least in the thrift store, what’s there functions, albeit slowly most of the time, and practically on the brink of death from how old and outdated the software is. It’s still something to work with though, and garners much less stress. If he didn’t have a budget to adhere to, he’s sure he’d wipe the shelves clean of whatever was there, but since he  _does_ have a budget, thrift store or not, he still needs to pick and choose carefully what to buy.

Peter grabs hold of the handle of one of the doors and steps inside. It’s still early for many people to be on their way home, much less thrifting, so it’s quiet inside the store. Self conscious that his music may now be too loud, he turns it down a little and takes out one of his earphones, so that in his right ear remains the beloved neo-psychedelia and in his left is the thrift store’s music which sounds an awful lot like something you’d hear in an elevator.

He makes a beeline for the back of the store, passing all the clothing racks along the way. The screeching as customers push the hangers along the metal rod never ceases to hurt his eardrums, and he suppresses a cringe at the uncomfortable noise. The fluorescent lighting illuminates the electronics section like a sort of beacon, a quest marker telling him he’s found what he was looking for. He almost swears this aisle smells and feelsold, but he can’t quite describe how. It’s a musty air, antiquated but almost charming as his eyes rove over the treasure trove of ancient technology. Or maybe he’s trying too hard to be poetic and it’s really just dust and he probably shouldn’t be inhaling it because—

“ _Achoo!_ ”

—because that.

Peter sniffles and lets out a cough as he starts taking a closer look at what’s on the shelves, sifting through all the electronics. There are cassette players, some floppy disks, some film cameras. He never really has anything specific in mind when he’s searching around, which now that he thinks about it, can get dangerous, since everything looks so exciting and he just wants it all, but he can’t spend all his money at once, never mind the fact there’s no way he could carry all of it home.

There’s an old Macintosh monitor that catches his eye farther down the aisle, and he makes a beeline for it. It’s just the monitor by itself, no keyboard or mouse. it’s bulky as hell and the screen is tiny and he’s falling in love with the thing the longer he studies it. He turns it around until he can find the sticker with the price, and he deflates a little when he finds it’s practically all the spending money he’d allotted himself for this week’s thrift store trip. He’d have liked to leave the store with more, but this is much too good to pass up, and out of everything else in this section, it’s the only item he’s not sure will be here the next time he comes by.

With a determined breath that signals he will buy only this and not get sidetracked by the other hidden gems here, at least not today, Peter picks up the monitor, caught a little off guard by the weight of it. He cradles it in his arms as he walks over to the front registers. There’s only one open because there aren’t many people, but luckily there’s only one person in front of him.

His eyes roam around the store as he waits, since he doesn’t exactly have a hand free to get out his phone to keep himself occupied. He can hear the cashier reminding the lady paying that all sales are final, and he immediately recognizes the next song his iPod plays purely based on the familiar low-tuned riff, one that’s almost menacing. When the drums come in, beat consistent and deep, he nods his head slightly in time with it.

It’s not long until the woman finishes her transaction and leaves. Peter doesn’t notice because his eyes have dropped to a sleek black pen sitting in a bin nearby, perched almost perfectly atop some random items—CD’s, pouches, so on and so forth. Given the fact it looks so out of place there, it seems someone had decided last minute not to get it and set it down while waiting in line. Peter glances at the monitor he holds and readjusts it so he can carry it with one arm and reach out to grab the pen with his free hand to take a look at it. It’s cool to the touch, and he carefully maneuvers it, turning it upside down so he can twist the mechanism between his index finger and thumb to bring up the tip of the pen. It reminds him of the Mont Blanc Tony sometimes writes with, except this one is much,  _much_ cheaper. Peter rotates the pen until he sees the sticker with the price—it’s about $463 cheaper than the Meisterstück Classique model, in fact.

Well, Peter  _had_  just lost one of his favorite pens the other day. He’s pretty sure it’s just somewhere hidden in the mess in his room, but he hadn’t had the chance to go looking for it. And this one isn’t terribly expensive; if he bought it, he’d still leave here today under budget. He purses his lips as he thinks, twisting the mechanism again to retract the nib.

“Sir, I can take you right over here whenever you’re ready,” the cashier remarks, and Peter turns to look at her, then glances at the pen.  _Why not. It couldn’t hurt._

He leaves the thrift store with his new monitor in one arm and the pen tucked away in his pocket. He’s determined not to lose this one this time. Despite being cheap enough to replace should he do so, it still looks pretty sleek. He’s extra careful as he walks the rest of the way home, lest he stumble and drop the monitor. There isn’t any room in his backpack to put it. Today he’d had to bring home quite a few books for the weekend’s homework, and his bag would need to be mostly empty if he wanted to fit this bulky unit in it.

It doesn’t take long for him to arrive at his apartment building, and he rides the elevator alone. There’s a ding to signal his arrival on his floor, and when he’s at his front door, he fishes his key out from his pocket. The apartment is empty since Aunt May doesn’t get out of work until 5. Peter tosses his key into the bowl by the door before kicking the door closed with his foot. He goes straight to his bedroom, setting the monitor on his desk. He heaves a sigh of relief when he’s alleviated of the weight. It hadn’t been a problem holding it at first, but it seemed to get heavier the longer he’d been holding it. He’d really like to start taking a more in-depth look at it, but a glance at his watch tells him he doesn’t have time to do that.

He pauses the music on his iPod and takes out his earphones, tossing the device onto his bed before shrugging off his jacket. The others will be here soon, which means he should probably be putting snacks together. He walks to the kitchenette and wonders if there’s still anything left or if he should try to run down to the corner store really quickly. He rifles through cabinets and the fridge and comes up with a couple of bags of family size chips and the liter of soda from last session. These will do for now. They might end up wanting to order pizza, since they hadn’t in a while.

Peter sets the food out on the dining table and switches on the lights in the living room. A large piece of graph paper sits in the center of the coffee table, and on it are drawn seemingly random shapes connected together. Four pieces of paper rest on each corner of this map, one for every party member. The die are arranged in a line in front of the dungeon master’s screen, ready for use. It was Peter’s turn to host the current campaign, and the setup has been sitting in the lounge since they started just a few weeks ago. Fridays are the normal meeting time, the day where it’s a guarantee that everyone is available, but if they can squeeze in an extra day, they make it happen.

In half an hour everyone has arrived and they’ve situated themselves in their spots around the coffee table. They pick up right where they left off. They’re still in early game, so they’re all relatively low level, but they’ve done a good bit of exploring, as evidenced by the map.

Aunt May comes home around 5:30 and greets them with a warm hello. Peter lets her know they’ve just decided to order pizza. It doesn’t feel like it takes too long for it to arrive, but that’s probably because they’re so engaged in the current adventure, as the party has found itself in a dungeon slightly too high level for them currently. Ned, as current dungeon master, had decided to make the new campaign a bit more challenging, so this probably shouldn’t have come as surprise. They take their time moving from room to room, and aren’t even halfway through the dungeon map when they call it quits for the night, since it’s getting late.

When it’s just Peter on his own again, he puts away the snacks and leftover pizza, then tosses the now empty liter bottle into the recycling bin. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him it’s almost midnight. He contemplates finally sitting down to look at his new find from the thrift store, but at that very moment, he yawns, signaling to him that perhaps he should just go to sleep for now. He wouldn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of working.

———

MONDAY

Unsurprisingly, the weekend is gone in a flash, with all the homework and saving civilians. Monday morning rolls around and it is dark outside when Peter’s alarm goes off. He groans and hits snooze, rolling onto his back and staring at the metal supports of the top bunk as he tries to wake up. His eyes are only half open when he finally gets himself to stand and head to the bathroom, and his yawn is so big he almost feels like a snake unhinging its jaw in preparation for a meal.  _Mondays suck._

Everyone in first period is practically still asleep. That’s no surprise. Peter drops down in his seat and rests his head on his propped up hand, which probably isn’t the best idea because he finds his eyelids sliding closed and he’s on the brink of dozing off. It’s only when the bell rings to signify the start of class does he jolt awake, just in time for his teacher to step inside the room and set his laptop case on his desk.

The next fifty minutes Peter spends in and out of consciousness, doing his best to stay up but finding it hard to fight against the heaviness of his eyelids. It just feels so nice when he closes his eyes and maybe he can get away with doing it for  _just_  a few seconds—no, he knows he can’t. If he lets his eyes close now, he’ll be out like a light. With a yawn, he sits up straighter, digging out his new pen from the pocket of his jeans. He might’ve been more awake if there were notes to be taken, but so far it was all just things he needed to listen to, and without any way to keep his hands busy, it was easy to get bored and then sleepy.

There are a few blank pieces of copy paper tucked into his notebook he’d stuffed in there specifically for times like these. He grabs a piece and pulls it out, setting it atop the still blank page his notebook is open to. He sits there for a moment, actually alert and staring at the board, but he’s not quite paying attention. He’s wondering what to draw. Well, he supposes he  _could_ draw the teacher… But he’d already done that. Multiple times in fact. This class in particular is rough because not only is it first thing in the morning, it’s  _incredibly_ boring. And there were only so many times and ways he could draw caricatures of his teacher. Where had he put those pictures anyway? Make that another thing to find in the mess of his bedroom, the aftermath of what Aunt May jokingly claimed was a hurricane.

Well, there’s Neoma.

At this point Peter’s surprised he hadn’t actually drawn her yet. He’d created her as his character for the new campaign, and it’s been long enough that it probably should’ve crossed his mind to draw her. But you know what they say: there’s no better time than the present. Even if he  _is_ sitting in class and should probably be paying more attention to what’s so interesting about the author’s metaphor in line 27 of the poem.

Drawing is successful at keeping him awake until the bell rings. He doesn’t get the chance to return to the piece until lunch time, when he’s finished eating early and there’s ten minutes left until next period. He’s so focused on the task that he doesn’t notice Ned leaning over to look at the paper.

“Why’d you give her white hair?”

At this question, Peter pauses and looks up at his friend. He shrugs. “I think it looks cool. And in a fantasy setting, naturally white hair doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

Ned laughs. “True.” He goes back to studying what Peter’s completed so far, which is almost everything. All that’s really left is the smaller details on her mage robes. “She’s pretty. Is she based off someone?”

Even though the answer to that is no, Peter can’t help the way his cheeks warm at the teasing. He hadn’t even seen her in a dream, the way all those corny romance novels always seem to have the male and female leads brought together by fate because one had seen the other in a dream. He’d come up with Neoma all on his own. She’s the first one of his characters he’d drawn, strangely enough. And he doesn’t think too hard about how she looks when he does, but with every line he lays down on the page he finds her to be perfect.

“She’s not,” Peter responds finally. Ned’s still wearing a small smirk which betrays the fact he doesn’t totally buy it, if only so he can continue teasing him. But luckily he doesn’t push it.

“Will you draw the other characters too?” Ned inquires.

Peter looks back down at his drawing of Neoma. “I could. Maybe Caligari.” Caligari is the primary antagonist of the current campaign, one that Ned had introduced to the party early on. He had destroyed a whole city for not bowing to him, right at the start, when the group was too weak to do anything but watch. It had angered them all, that was for sure, and it drove them to get better and take their time leveling up for when they finally encounter him. Of all the campaigns Peter has played, this villain has made him the angriest. Nothing maddens him more than being powerless to stop those who are wrong, those who kill people that can’t defend themselves. Perhaps that’s why all his characters had had some sort of alignment with good, whether lawful, chaotic, or now neutral, as Neoma is.

“You could probably illustrate the entire adventure.”

Peter chuckles as he tucks his drawing away. The bell rings. “Maybe I can get a job as a children’s book illustrator,” he jokes.

There isn’t much of Neoma to finish drawing when he arrives home. When she’s done, he contemplates starting on Caligari right away, but decides he should probably get his homework done first. But after homework, there’s dinner, then getting ready for bed, and it’s quite late when he finally gets the chance to grab another piece of copy paper and sit at his desk. He pushes aside the tools he’d used to tinker with his web shooters yesterday, clearing a comfortable amount of space. He’s really come to like his thrift store pen. The ink glides on smoothly for a secondhand writing instrument. It makes him wonder why anyone would give it up in the first place. Surely it was worth more than the $2 he’d bought it for.

The light of the lamp is what illuminates the page in front of him, and Caligari is just about complete when 1 AM is twenty minutes away. Peter yawns and glances out his window, where he can see skyscrapers and the blinking lights of planes flying among the clouds. It’s quiet on the streets. He thinks he can fall asleep right at his desk, but he knows his neck and back will hurt like a bitch come morning if he does, and his bed is only three steps away.

With a tired sigh, Peter stands and tucks the drawing in his notebook. He then stores the pen in his backpack before he switches off the lamp and ambles over to his bed, falling onto it none too gracefully. As he pulls the sheets over himself and rolls over, getting tangled in the blankets, he wonders which character he should draw next. He doesn’t bother neatening the blankets out. He’s asleep before he can even consider doing it.

———

TUESDAY

Tuesday morning is a repeat of Monday. The alarm hurts Peter’s ears and he can’t suppress a groan as he hits snooze. Based on the way there’s no light bouncing off the walls, it’s darker outside today than it was yesterday morning. He looks at the time on his phone, squinting against the bright light, to confirm that it is indeed the time for him to wake up. His eyes slide closed and he sighs heavily at seeing that yes, it is time to get ready for the day. Why couldn’t it be Friday already?

He sits up so he can look out the window, but his heart all but jumps from his chest when he sees a figure standing there, back to him. He shuffles off his bed in a panic, but given that he’d spent the night tangled in the blankets, his feet get caught and he falls off with a thud. His web shooter is sitting on the nightstand and he throws it on quickly. He stands, feet apart and bracing himself should he need to fight. His heart is beating rapidly and his veins pulse with adrenaline, because he becomes aware of multiple things at once: there’s an invader, Aunt May is also in the house, and he needs to get rid of this person quickly and quietly.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands with web shooter at the ready. The commotion prompts the figure to turn to him, and he almost doesn’t believe what he sees. Scratch that, he  _doesn’t_ believe what he sees.

“… Neoma?”

Your hair is the color of a cold and cloudy morning. It’s perhaps the most immediate giveaway as to your identity, and the boldest feature, which is why Peter notices it first. But then he takes in the rest of what you wear, and he questions whether or not he’s dreaming. You’re donning mage robes, along with the bulky scarf which sits around your neck and conceals your face from the nose down. Your eyes are a piercing blue, brows drawn together as you study him, which make your scrutinizing gaze all the more nerve-wracking. Your arms are crossed, and you slowly bring a hand up. Peter tenses the moment you move, since he’s still not sure if you’re going to attack.

But you don’t. You pull the scarf down and fully expose your face. “You know who I am?”

Peter hadn’t necessarily imagined a voice for you when he’d first made you. That’s a little challenging to begin with, making up a voice. He could’ve assigned you a voice of someone he knew, but he didn’t feel it was right to even do that, not when the rest of you was his own creation. So when he hears you speak, he’s not left disappointed nor does he find his expectations fulfilled. It’s just…  _you_. It’s soft, a contrast to the firm expression you wear as you wait for his response.

“U-Um…” Peter stutters. His arm is still raised, palm up and ready to shoot webbing should the need arise. “I do.”

Your eyes drop down to the web shooter. “I mean you no harm. You can sheathe your weapon.”

Peter glances at the contraption around his wrist, contemplating for a moment if it was a smart idea to lower his arm. Well, it  _is_  clear you’re telling the truth considering you haven’t attacked yet, and as the one who’d created you in the first place, he knows you need no staff to carry out spells, just your hands, which are crossed currently, and your stance is relaxed. He slowly does as you say, then takes a moment to assess the situation.

You’re not a home invader. That’s good.

You’d been somehow brought into his universe from your own. That’s  _not_  good.

Peter is having a very hard time processing the situation. You’re standing in the middle of his bedroom in mage robes, looking like you’re about to go to a LARP session in Central Park, for goodness’ sake! Is he  _completely_ certain he isn’t dreaming? Should he pinch himself for good measure? Why are you here?  _How_ are you here? He’s wondering now if he should skip school today to get this sorted out, but he knows he can’t, because there’s a test they’re reviewing for in history and he really needs to show up. He runs a hand through his hair, his textbook tell that he’s stressed, as he surveys you. You remain in your place, watching him like a hawk.

“Where am I?” you inquire.

“You’re in, uh… you’re in New York. Queens, specifically.” He doesn’t know why there’s a need to specify. You don’t know what New York is anyway.

“That name isn’t familiar to me.”

“Which is expected, because you see…” Peter trails off as he walks to his closet, finding whatever smells clean and pulling it out, because he does need to get ready. “You’re not in Galerion.”

Your brows furrow. “Inter-universal travel? I thought such magic was only speculation.”

Peter’s less inclined to call it inter-universal travel considering your universe isn’t actually real. But he doesn’t know what it could actually be, and right now inter-universal travel is an adequate answer until he finds out more. He knows that sooner or later he’ll need to tell you the truth. He’s surprised that you haven’t freaked out at the notion of being dropped in the middle of a new world, but you  _are_ a mage. Magic users deal with the seemingly impossible all the time, their powers giving them the ability to manipulate reality itself if that’s their goal. Even so, it will be difficult for you to come to terms with the idea that your world isn’t real, that there is no Galerion. So for now he plays along, if only to keep you calm. There’s no way you’d believe him if he told you the truth right now, and you might actually lash out then, and he is in no way equipped to deal with magic.

“Apparently it’s not,” Peter states, smiling nervously.

“So you were the one to cast the spell? Because it wasn’t me.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t cast it either. I’m just as in the dark as you are.” Wow. He’d said “cast” in the context of casting a spell. It feels like he’s role-playing. If he weren’t so shocked at your presence he might be excited.

“Who are you then? You’re not a wizard or a sorcerer?”

“My name is Peter, and… no, I’m neither of those things. I can’t use magic.”

“Well if it wasn’t you, then we must find who did this.” You start to walk to the door, but Peter moves to stand in front of it.

“You can’t leave.”

You frown. “Why not?”

 _Plenty of reasons. Where do I begin?_ “Well… my aunt’s out there. And she’d freak if she saw you.”

“She has no knowledge of arcane magic yet you do?”

“Basically.” Peter shrugs. To say that he has knowledge of any sort of arcane magic is definitely a stretch. What he does know he’d acquired from playing a role-play game! He deals with the physical, not the mystical. Though he supposes what meager information Dungeons and Dragons has given him is certainly better than nothing, if anything. “Just… wait here for a second, okay?” Thankfully, you listen to him without complaint, sitting on his bed as he leaves and closes the door behind him. He skips the shower this morning, settling for washing his face so that he can get back to you quicker. When he pads down the hallway back to his room, he hears Aunt May call out.

“Peter, I’m leaving now!”

“Okay!” he replies. “Have a good day!” He stays where he is until he hears the front door close, and once it does, he rushes the rest of the way to his room. You’re still sitting in the same spot, hands folded on your lap. Your gaze slides to him.

Since you’re the only two occupants of the apartment now, when he opens the door, he leaves it open. He stands in the frame, and the two of you watch each other for a moment in silence. And then he claps his hands together loudly. “We’re gonna get this sorted out.  _Later_.”

Your brows furrow at this statement, and you watch as he walks around the room, grabbing his jacket and his backpack. “What do you mean later?”

“I need to go to school. Like,  _really_ need to go.” Peter slips his jacket on, zipping it hastily and squashing down a curse when he pinches his finger. “Just stay here. I’ve got books and video games. Knock yourself out. But you  _can’t_  leave the apartment. Magic is… It’s not common here. You can’t just go asking people about it.”

You tilt your head. “Magic governs reality itself. I don’t understand how it isn’t common.”

“This is a conversation we can have when I get back, all right? There’s food in the kitchen. Try not to make a mess.” Peter looks at you with a raised brow, as if to ask if you’ve got all that. He’s relieved when you nod slowly, still not complaining. Out of all his D&D characters that could’ve been brought to life, he’s glad it was the mage. The paladin and the ranger might be demanding he help them this instant, caught in a panic as they might be.  

Peter passes by the living room on his way to the front door, and pauses to glance at the coffee table. The game is still set up. He quickly crosses the small distance to it and picks up all four character sheets, tucking them into his backpack for safe-keeping. Then he folds the DM screen carefully, to make sure he doesn’t see what information is written on the inside, then sticks it between some books on the shelf. He can’t have you finding any of these items.

———

He’s jittery the whole day at school. His mind is buzzing too much for him to concentrate, and he thinks maybe he  _should’ve_ just missed today, since all he can think about is the fact a mage is in his apartment right now and while you’d been compliant earlier, who’s to say you’d actually end up listening?

Actually, he supposes that would be him.

He  _had_ been the one to design you. He’d given you traits, flaws, ideals. And assuming you really are Neoma from his D&D campaign, then all those aspects should be the exact same. It’s now that he realizes he really  _does_  knowyou. He knows the way you think, the way you act if things don’t go your way. He knows everything. He’d gone through the current campaign as you, your own personality, not his own, dictating his decisions. Reasonably he should be able to predict your next moves, but he’s less sure of it now that you’ve become an actual person, your  _own_  person, and maybe what’s written on his character sheet  _is_  correct, or maybe you’re completely different, and the only thing he’d gotten right was your name and your class. That’s why he was more inclined to play along with you earlier.

The implications of being totally wrong about you give Peter a headache to consider, for it’s just more stress on top of the fact you’re here in the first place. For all he knows, you could’ve left the apartment and sought out whoever had done this. But where could you possibly start? How far would you even get looking like  _that,_ clad in mage robes? He’d told you magic wasn’t common here, but would that stop you? Would you cast spells regardless?

As he thinks more about this, he exhales slowly, resisting the urge to groan. This is not a good week, and it’s only Tuesday.

Ned notices how fidgety Peter is during history. Come lunch time, he decides to bring it up.

“Hey, you doing okay, man?” he begins.

Peter freezes and glances at his friend, wondering if maybe Ned knew, somehow, what was going on. “Yeah.” Peter nods and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Really? You looked like you were barely focusing in history earlier…”

“Just been a little stressed lately, that’s all.”

“Is it”—Ned leans closer and lowers his voice—“Spiderman?”

“No, it’s not.” Peter shakes his head and hopes Ned doesn’t try to question him further. Right now this is an issue only between him and you and it will remain that way. “I’m fine, Ned. Really.”

Ned doesn’t look very convinced, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything more. “If you say so.”

The end of the school day doesn’t arrive fast enough, it seems. Peter is gone as soon as the bell rings, rushing like mad back to the apartment. It feels like the subway takes even longer to arrive today than usual. The first matter of business was to get you out of those robes. If you were to go searching for the perpetrator of this whole ordeal together, you certainly couldn’t stay in those clothes. You’d stick out like a sore thumb. He decides he’ll stop by the thrift store. He’s definitely going to go over budget for this week, after buying that Macintosh monitor and now clothes for you. He’ll just need to go dumpster diving more often the next couple of weeks to make up for it. That’s no big deal.

When he gets to the thrift store, he slows down as he approaches the door. His hand is poised on the handle, and through the glass he can see those clothing racks which rest in the front half of the store. He purses his lips. The clothes in there will be cheap, no doubt, and he’d considered just buying a bunch of different things that look like they could fit you. He looks down the block, where not much farther is his apartment building. It would be much better if you were here, to try things on. He really doesn’t want to have to guess and potentially end up with too many extra clothes that don’t fit.

His hand drops from the handle. He resumes his walk back to the apartment. When he gets there, he stills at the front door as he tries to listen for anything going on inside. It’s quiet. He’s not sure whether or not to panic because it could mean you’d listened to him and you remained in the flat, waiting for his return and keeping yourself occupied with the books or the video games he had (well, maybe not the video games, it’s not as if you know what those are). It could also mean you’d left, maybe through the window. He’s several floors up but with your magic, getting down wouldn’t have been a problem. When he unlocks the door he hopes desperately it’s the former.

He ends up being right. You’ve stayed. But what he wasn’t expecting was to come home to  you casting a spell in the middle of his living room.

He freezes momentarily when he sees you sitting there on the couch, legs crossed and eyes glowing a shade of white to match your hair, before he remembers to shut the door behind him.  He does it quickly, and the loud thud as it clicks back into place grabs your attention. You close your eyes and when they open, they’re normal again. Your blue eyes are wide in surprise at his return, which had interrupted your task.

“What were you doing?” Peter asks worriedly. He starts glancing around at what he can see of the apartment to see if there’s any indication that the spell, or any you could’ve casted earlier while he was out, had messed it up in any way. Because he’ll need to put it all in order before Aunt May came back. This prompts him to look at his watch: he’s got 2 hours before she’s home.

“A clairvoyance spell,” you explain. “Nothing dangerous. I’ve been trying to detect any other mystical presence. It could be the source of what’s happened.”

Peter nods as he digests this information. It makes sense for you to know clairvoyance. It’s one of the spells he had—you had?—begun the campaign with. It’s low level, simple. “And? Anything?”

You shake your head with a frown. “Nothing.”

Peter sighs. It isn’t entirely unexpected. It was too much to hope that it would be as easy as that. “We’ll get it figured out, I promise. But for now, we need to get you into some new clothes. You can’t stay in your mage robes.”

You look down at what you’re wearing. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“No one wears anything like that.”  _Unless they’re role-playing_ , he wants to say, but he stops himself because how would you know what that is?

“All right…” you trail off. “So what do I wear instead?”

“We’re going to buy some right now. But let’s get you into a more… normal-looking outfit before we leave.” He motions for you to follow him to his bedroom, and you wait on his bed as he searches around his closet for anything you could wear. He pulls out his Midtown High School sweatshirt, which has been freshly washed and hung up, but takes slightly longer finding bottoms for you. Eventually he pulls out a pair track pants.

“Here.” He hands the two articles of clothing to you. You take them but look at them as though they’re something alien. “They’re gonna be a little large, but it’s better than nothing.”

You set the clothes down on the bed and stand up. You shed your scarf, tossing it to the side. The soft bundle lands with a quiet plop. When you begin to undo the ties of your tunic, Peter sputters. “I’ll, uh… I’ll wait outside,” he tells you, and before you can say anything, he rushes out, closing the door a little too hard on accident. He takes a deep breath as he tries to ignore the blush on his face.

While waiting for you to change he searches the shoe closet for sneakers that might fit you. He takes a look at what Aunt May has and finds an old pair of red Chucks she clearly doesn’t wear anymore, seeing as they were all the way in the back. The red is dull and the laces are gray—the signs of a well-worn pair of shoes. He turns the shoes over in his hands to look for the size as he walks back to his room. He hears the doorknob twist and he stops short in the hallway when you open the door and come to stand in the frame.

As expected, the clothes are large for you. The shoulder seams of the sweatshirt are way past your own shoulders, and the sleeves are much too long. You’ve tried to pull up the material to prevent it from covering your hands, the excess fabric bunching up at the bends of your elbows. You have the same issue with the track pants, which you’ve folded at the bottom a few times so you wouldn’t trip. Peter can’t help but think how cute you look like that. He’s never had a girl wear his clothes before but now that he’s experiencing it, he discovers he enjoys it a lot.

“Are you all right?” you ask, brows furrowed in concern, and that’s when he snaps out of his train of thought.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Peter laughs nervously. “I found these. Tell me how they fit. They’re my aunt’s.” He hands you the shoes, which you’re able to slip on without having to untie them.

You wiggle your toes. “They fit fine. Your aunt won’t mind if I borrow them?”

“No, she doesn’t wear them anymore. She won’t even notice they’ve gone missing.”

You take a few test steps, getting used to the feeling of them on your feet. They’re definitely a change from your normal boots. “Okay.”

The moment the two of you step out of the apartment building, you pause to take in your surroundings. It’s not as bright outside now but it isn’t any less magnificent. The buildings here are so unlike what you have in Galerion. You lower your gaze to the streets when you hear the  _whoosh_ of cars, your brows furrowed as you watch the unfamiliar machines travel down the roads. The stoplights flash red and yellow and green and they bounce off the cars waiting at the intersections. At the end of the block, the crosswalk sign turns green and while you can’t hear it, Peter can pick up the sound of clicking, a signal for blind pedestrians that it’s safe to cross. He studies the wonder on your face as you look in awe at everything, even though to him this block is nothing exciting. He sees it every day.

“This is incredible,” you breathe out.

The statement makes Peter smile. “It’s just a small bit of what New York has to offer, believe me. Come on.” He gently sets a hand at the small of your back to guide you down the sidewalk.

When you arrive at the thrift store, Peter pulls the door open for you, and you blink a few times as you adjust to the fluorescent lighting. You follow him to the clothing rack, but when you get there, you stand still, not entirely sure what to do. He picks up on this quickly.

“Just find anything you like,” he explains.

You nod slowly, eyes roving over the numerous racks of clothing. He smiles encouragingly, and you start to walk down the first aisle, running your fingers along the clothes that hang there. Peter watches you for a moment to make sure you’re okay before he pulls up his jacket sleeve to look at his watch: 4:30. There’s an hour until Aunt May should be coming home. That should be enough time.

He wants to look at the electronics aisle just for fun, but knows he can’t let you out of his sight since you don’t have a phone and he can’t risk having a lost mage running around New York. He tucks his hands into his pockets and he waits. He doesn’t even notice the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches you, and it widens when you make your way back to him, armed with several articles of clothing.

“All right, now you have to try these on.”

“You can do that without buying them?” you question, trailing behind Peter as he walks toward the changing rooms. He finds an empty one and holds an arm out to let you know you can head inside.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” he informs you.

He’d forgotten his earphones this time around, so he’s stuck listening to more of the screeching as hangers slide along the metal racks. He sighs as he stands there, analyzing the current situation, if only to help block out the grating noise. You’re under the impression you’ve been transported from your universe to his, and that isn’t the case. You’d simply been brought to life—and by  _what? By who?_ Peter has never felt so confused. He might be Spiderman and he might deal with far beyond what the normal teenager does, but this kind of stuff, it’s not something he’s even remotely familiar with. Whenever he does find what or who did this, what is he supposed to do then? There is no “home” to send you back to, as you believe. Did that mean you were stuck here? How could he possibly break that kind of news to you?

“Everything fits fine,” you comment as you open the door, clothing bundled up in your arms.

Peter forces a smile onto his face. “Great. Let’s get these paid for.”

The same lady is working the register as the last time he was here. You wait patiently behind him as he pays, eyes glued to the type of currency they use. There’s no gold exchanged. Peter pulls out a plastic rectangle and inserts it into a small machine. That’s all you’re really able to follow. He tells the lady thank you after the clothes are bagged and he picks it up before you leave the store.

“So… what  _did_  you do today, while I was gone?” Peter asks as the two of you walk back to the apartment.

You shrug. “I took a look at some of the books you had.”

“And?”

“They’re interesting. Certainly different from all the spell books and tomes I studied in Galerion.”

It sounds strange for Peter to hear you say this, to talk about this realm of yours like you truly do live there. “You were a student?”

You nod. “I was a wizard’s apprentice before my companions and I left to hunt for Caligari. Caligari is a ruthless monster who’s decimated city-states without batting an eye, and we aim to defeat him, no matter what it takes.”

The more you say, the more Peter comes to understand. This matches his character sheet perfectly. You learned magic as an apprentice before Caligari destroyed Rimmen, as recounted by Ned, the current campaign DM. It seems you’d come to life with the background Peter had given you and what they’d covered in the adventure so far. It makes sense that you truly believe you’d been transported from there to here.

“What’s that?” You stop walking to point at the pizza joint, with its neon sign and a poster of a pepperoni pizza which advertises some special deal for  _“_ a limited time only.”

“Pizza,” Peter says matter-of-factly. He glances at you and the curiosity in your eyes is hard to miss. He looks at his watch again: 5:20. At this point, they’ll be late anyway. So he smiles, corner of his lips tilting up. “Come on, I’ll buy you a slice.”

You wait for him at the table in the corner, the plastic bag filled with your clothes sitting on the floor next to you. The lighting in here is brighter than what had been in the thrift store, and it glares off the table tops. There’s a little girl a few tables away staring at you, and you smile softly in hello. The woman across from her whom you assume is the mother sees this and smiles back.

“I think she was looking at your hair, that little girl,” Peter remarks as he sits down across from you. He has a slice of pizza on a paper plate which he sets in front of you, along with a cup of water.

“Is there something wrong with my hair?” you ask, reaching up to feel if there are any unruly strands.

Peter chuckles. “No, but it’s white.”

“Is that strange here?” You try to pick up the slice of pizza but feel awfully clumsy doing so, using your fingers to support it as you bring it to your mouth.

“Usually the only people that have white hair are old.”

You take a bite of the pizza, and when you pull it away, some of the cheese stretches. Peter watches in amusement as you try to break the string, and when you finally do, you’re able to set the slice back down on the plate.

“How is it?” he asks.

You swallow and grab the water. “Greasy.”

“Sounds about right.”

It’s almost 6 PM when the two of you return to the apartment. When you’re at the front door and Peter’s unlocking it, he glances at you. “I need to see if my aunt is there so just wait for a second, okay?” You nod and remain where you are, holding your bag of clothes, as he steps inside He doesn’t see Aunt May in the lounge, nor the kitchenette, but he can see light peeking out from the crack at the bottom of her bedroom door. Silently he walks back out to you and motions you inside.

 _Stay quiet,_  he mouthes, and you’re swift and light on your feet as you walk to his bedroom. You set the plastic bag down by his desk and turn around to face him as he enters behind you and closes the door.  

“So where will our search begin?” you inquire, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Is there a library we can go to?”

“We have libraries,” Peter begins as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the back of his desk chair, “but they don’t have tomes or anything like that.”

“Right,” you say, remembering what he’d say this morning. “No magic here.”

Peter smiles slightly. “Exactly.”

“So what do you use to research?”

“The Internet. There’s all kinds of stuff there.”

“Brilliant.” You clap your hands together. “And where is this ‘Internet’?”

Peter walks over to his desk to pick up his laptop and hold it up. “It’s here.”

Your brows furrow. “But that’s so… small.”

“The Internet isn’t physical. It doesn’t need a lot of space.” He sits next to you and opens his laptop, and your eyes are glued to the screen attentively. He opens the browser and goes to an online newspaper, showing you the array of articles that appear in seconds. He sneaks a glance over to you and you’re clearly very enamored with the piece of technology. It’s almost endearing. No one ever gets this excited about the power of the Internet anymore.

“May I?”

It takes a moment for Peter to understand what you mean, but when he does, he immediately says of course. He balances the laptop on his lap as you set your fingers on the trackpad, and your smile widens when the cursor on screen moves along with the movement of your finger. You follow what he did and tap the trackpad once to open up articles, and you might be skimming them, you might not. He speculates you’re too caught up in the wonder of it to really try to read.

“Since this is already here, we can begin our search tonight?” Your hand leaves the trackpad and you return your attention to him.

The smile on Peter’s face drops. “Not quite. We still need to know  _what_ to search, and right now we don’t know anything. I think I might know someone who will that I can talk to tomorrow. But in the mean time…”

“No research.”

“No research.” Peter shakes his head.

You sigh, and it’s rife with dejection. “If we must.”

“Sorry.”

At this, you smile a little as you glance at him. “Don’t be. We can’t make morning come faster. Only the greatest of magic users can manipulate time.”

He stands to set his laptop back down on his desk. “I have some work I need to do for school. Will you be okay while I do that?”

“I’ll be fine.” You stand and walk over to the shelf where his books rest. You run the pad of your index finger along the spines. “You have many books and I have the time to read them.”

“Great.” Peter smiles. He settles down at his desk and pulls his backpack next to him while you settle down on the bed with his copy of  _Down and Out in Paris and London_. He’d bought that book for an essay earlier this year, but he’d never finished it, stretched thin as he was with his other homework and patrolling Queens. He distinctly remembers getting to page 84 three days before the essay was due, giving up on it, and writing the paper with what meager knowledge he had the night before the due date. He got a 95%.

The homework for tonight moves slowly. Peter’s history review notes are all over the place, due to his inability to focus in class. He’ll need to ask Ned if he can look at his notes tomorrow. He ends up saving English for last because it’s just more poems and if he tries to read them now he’ll fall asleep immediately. At least with chemistry it requires him to be actually write, and that can keep him awake. He’s halfway through the problems assigned for the night when he hears you shuffle around.

He looks back over his shoulder to see you’ve set the book down next to you so you can lean over to grab the camera he has sitting on the nightstand. He’d bought it a couple of months ago, and he has an extra pack of film stored in the drawer, but he hadn’t even gotten through the first pack. He sets his pencil down and settles for watching you, to give his mind a break. You turn the thing over in your hands, locating the viewfinder and putting it against your eye.

“That’s a Polaroid camera,” he pipes up, and you set the camera down to look at him. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed and gently takes the camera from you. You scoot up to be closer, as you’d been leaning against the pillows. “You use this to frame the picture”—he points at the viewfinder—“and when you take it, it comes out here.” He turns the camera around to point at the slit in the front.

Your eyes are concentrated on the camera, and you can’t help but smile. “I know you’ve said there’s no magic in this universe but I’m inclined to disagree.”

Peter smiles softly. “Here, I’ll take a photo of you.” He’s adjusting the light meter when you speak again.

“Why not a take one of both of us?”

Peter doesn’t look up immediately but when he does his smile is wider due to the idea you present. “I can try, but no promises that it’ll come out well.” He turns the polaroid around so it faces the two of you, and he leans his head to the left to motion you closer. You slide over, shoulder to shoulder with him, and he hopes he’s angling the lens correctly to get the two of you in frame properly. You glance at Peter to find him smiling, so you grin at the camera as well, and then suddenly there’s a bright flash which momentarily obscures your vision.

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes as he lowers the camera, which now begins buzzing as the photo slides out.

“Do they all flash so brightly?” you ask.

“The older ones do. You can turn that off in newer cameras.” He grabs the photo carefully. Since it’s fresh, it’s still blank, and you point this out.

“There’s nothing there.”

“It needs time to develop, so you store it somewhere dark.” He puts the camera back on the nightstand and stores the photo in the drawer.  

“How is the school work?” You motion toward the desk, which has since become a mess of papers and textbooks. Peter follows your gaze and sighs as he too studies the materials on his desk.

“Boring. Slow. Tiring.” He shrugs.

You laugh. “I felt the same with all the work my mentor would assign me. Studying late into the night and waking up early to train in the field. It was frustrating, but it was worth it.”

Peter smiles. The way you stare at the far wall, as if remembering memories not called upon for a long time, he could swear that maybe everything—the realm of Galerion, your training, the destruction of Rimmen— _was_ real. The way you act, the memories you have, the expressiveness in your eyes and the softness of the smiles you grace him with… It is all  _so real_. As he considers this, it’s now him who’s having difficulty coming to terms with the idea that your very being is made up. You’d been a figment of his imagination. And now you sit here before him, in his Midtown High School sweatshirt and his track pants which are much too large for you. This morning he wondered if he was dreaming. He knows now that he isn’t.

It’s another couple of hours until he’s just about finished with his homework. He pauses momentarily to roll his neck, stretching the muscles after having looked down at his work for so long. You’d fallen asleep a while ago. Peter puts his homework away in his backpack and makes his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It’s been a long, very confusing day, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him when he showers.

Before he leaves the bathroom, he grabs his jeans which he’d left on the counter and empties the pockets before he tosses them in the hamper. He grabs his wallet, some change, and his pen. He carries all of this with him to the room. The first two things he sets on his desk, but the last he starts to put away in his backpack. He’s tucked it into the front pocket, but then he pauses. He pulls it out and studies it, rotating it in his hand. The expression on his face shifts to one of realization. He stands slowly, and his eyes slide from the pen to you.

What else could it be?

You popping into existence the day after he’d drawn you is too much of a coincidence. You looked just like the drawing, right down to your clothes. Peter huffs and rubs at his temples. A  _pen_ is basically the cause of the entire ordeal. It’s no ordinary pen, that’s for sure, but what had it been doing sitting in a secondhand store? It’s very clearly a magical artifact that shouldn’t be there, yet it had been. He supposes this could’ve gone worse. Someone else could’ve taken it, set such things into motion, and not known how to deal with them. Peter won’t deny that despite his inexperience with magic, he’s still better equipped than most. He’s glad he hadn’t decided to draw a dragon or something. The notion of a pen he found in a thrift store being this powerful is kind of ironic, he can’t help but think.

If this pen is what’s started it all, you aren’t the only one it’s brought to life. Peter had drawn Caligari as well. When he remembers this, he almost wants to punch himself in the face, never mind that he had no way of knowing the powers this pen held. Although he wasn’t too far into the D&D campaign, he knew a fair amount about its main villain, and he knew that at this point your companions were still too weak to face him—you on your own, even more so.

He walks up to his window and gazes outside as if he’ll see Caligari standing there somewhere.  But he knows he won’t. New York is large and, well, who’s to say he  _is_ in New York anymore? Had he gone somewhere else, to a new state even? There’s no way to track him, and with his shapeshifting abilities, he could be practically anyone. Was he laying low for now? Peter would’ve expected Caligari to wreak havoc the moment he’d spawned, yet there hadn’t been anything disastrous reported. Aside from you showing up, it was a normal day—as normal as a day like this can get, anyway.

Peter glances over at you. You’re hugging a pillow to your chest. Had Caligari sensed you at all? You hadn’t sensed him after doing your clairvoyance spell, but then again, you may not have the precision to detect more powerful mystical beings, early on in the game as you technically still are.

With a sigh, he turns off the lamp and goes to his closet, digging around for some extra blankets. There’s no room on the top bunk from all that he’s stored there, and he’s too tired to move any of it. He grabs one of the extra pillows from it instead before laying down on the ground, doing his best to get comfortable on the wooden floor. To clear more space he has to push aside clothes he’d haplessly thrown around. He really should clean up his room.

Once he’s finally settled, he stares up at the ceiling, the blood rushing to his head so forcefully he has to close his eyes for a moment. There is now an actual threat out there somewhere in New York ( _hopefully_ , which is strange to say, but it’s the best case scenario because at least Peter can reach him), and he’s the cause. It won’t be fun seeking out that help he’d mentioned to you earlier, but he has no choice.

A heavy feeling bubbles in the pit of his stomach. He rolls onto his side, staring at the pile of clothes to his right and listening to the sound of your breathing. This is  _not_ a good week.

———

WEDNESDAY

You wake up before Peter does.

You inhale deeply as you slowly open your eyes, greeted with the sight of a cloudy sky outside the window. It makes you smile to see all the buildings. In Galerion, you would instead be waking up to the sight of trees in every direction. On some nights you’d choose to take shelter in one, in a branch out of reach of any monster that could potentially stumble upon your camp. You and your companions spent much time traveling between cities, so sleeping at an inn with a bed and the warmth of a fire was a treat. As you sit up, crossing your legs and still facing the window, you can’t help but think this is the best sleep you’d ever gotten. The bed is just  _so soft_.

You run your fingers through your hair, detangling what knots you can. The silence is punctuated with Peter’s light snores and it makes you smile. You look to your right to find him sleeping on the floor. The smile drops a little when you realize he’d had to sleep there since you’d fallen asleep on his bed. You’ll apologize for it when he’s awake and offer to switch with him. This is his room after all, and sleeping on the ground is nothing new for you.

While you’re studying him, eyeing the gentle rise and fall of his chest, you remember the photo he’d taken last night. Surely it’s done now. You reach to the side for the nightstand drawer. You pull it open and feel around for the photo, and you pull it out once you find it. You smile as you study it. It’s strange to see yourself this way, without having to look into a mirror. This is probably the most intriguing thing you’ve encountered in this universe so far. To be able to encapsulate a moment forever, to bring it with you wherever you please, is a magic unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

There’s a sound of a door opening and closing and your eyes shoot to the bedroom door, listening to the footsteps that pad throughout the rest of the apartment. Peter’s aunt. You wonder when she leaves. You’d have liked to get food and even search for where you might bathe. But it’ll have to wait for now.

Peter wakes up not much longer after you do, his phone blaring the same alarm. Like clockwork, he groans as he hits snooze. But this time when he sits up, his back is sore. Great. He stretches to alleviate some of the pain, and he breathes deeply as he finally glances toward his bed, to find you’re already awake and staring out the window.

“Hey,” he starts quietly. “When did you wake up?”

You glance at him and smile. “Not long ago. I’m sorry about taking the bed. Next time tell me to move and I will. I can take the floor.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Peter shakes his head and stands up. “I’m going to get ready. My aunt leaves before I do, so when she does, I’ll let you know.”

You nod. “All right.”

After his shower, Peter takes a peek in the kitchenette at the food Aunt May has made this morning. He decides he’ll save it for you. He can always find something else in the refrigerator or pick something up on the way to school.

“Good morning.”

Peter’s eyes shoot up when Aunt May greets him. She’s smiling and already dressed and ready to go. She sits down on the couch to put on her shoes and Peter joins her in the living room. “Morning,” he says. His voice is still a little rough, and it makes May’s grin widen. He’s always slow to wake up.

“Got anything exciting going on today?” she asks.

Peter shrugs. “Sure, if you call studying for a history test exciting.”

She grimaces playfully. “Sounds really fun.” When her shoes are on, she stands up and grabs her bag. “I’ll be home the usual time. Have a good day okay?”

“I will.” He smiles and watches her leave. When the door closes behind her, he walks to his bedroom and opens it. You’re still on his bed, having returned to reading  _Down and Out in Paris and London_. “She just left. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

You set the book down and get up. “Actually I was wondering if I might have a bath first?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, of course.”

You smile in thanks and are about to rummage through your plastic bag of clothes, but decide it would be better to just bring it all. You follow close behind Peter as he leads you down the hall.

“The bathroom is just over here…” He comes to a stop at an open door and turns on the lights for you. It’s still warm from his own shower. He grabs you a towel and hangs it over the rack, then shows you how to control the water. You jump a little when the water suddenly shoots out from the shower head and he has to suppress a chuckle. He helps adjust the warmth and you hold a hand out, your eyes lighting up as the water grows warmer with each second that passes. You’d been so acclimated to cold water by now from bathing in lakes that the prospect of stepping beneath warm water excites you.

While waiting for you to finish showering, Peter returns to his room. He spots the photo of the two of you sitting on his bed and he smiles when he picks it up to examine. He’s pretty proud of himself because the two of you are only slightly off-center. You don’t look lost or confused at all in this picture. Your smile is relaxed as though you’ve taken plenty of these before. For your first ever, it came out well.

He sets the polaroid on his desk before plopping down in the chair. He grabs his phone and scrolls through the contacts until he finally reaches the one he’s searching for. He sits there for a moment, not doing anything, just  _contemplating_. If he does this, it’s a done deal. He’ll be in trouble for what’s happened, that’s for sure, but this new threat is beyond you or him. He can’t deny he needs extra help. So with a sigh, he types out the message quickly and hits send before he can change his mind.

_To: Tony Stark_

_Can I come by today?_

The moment his phone confirms the message is sent, he sets it down quickly and goes to the kitchen, mind already thinking about Tony’s response which will inevitably be asking him if something is the matter. As he puts two pieces of bread in the toaster and finds the jam in the fridge, he tries to figure out what he’s supposed to say. And  _how_ could he possibly say it? _Nothing much. Just drew some characters with a magical pen and now those characters have come to life and oh, guess what else? One of those characters is immensely powerful with the ability to destroy whole cities on his own. And I have no idea where he is._

Peter closes his eyes and sighs. He is so screwed.

He opens his eyes when he hears you walking toward the kitchenette. You’re wearing a red flannel and a pair of black leggings. It makes him smile to see you in normal clothes like this. Aside from your hair color, you really do blend in when you’re out of your mage robes. No one would suspect you might have come from a  _Lord of the Rings_ -esque universe. Well, even if you were in your robes, they wouldn’t suspect that. They’d probably think you got lost on the way to a LARP convention. The thought of that elicits a smile he doesn’t notice creeps onto his face until you ask what he’s thinking about.

“Nothing!” he responds hurriedly. He jumps when his toast pops up, as the toaster is right next to him. You laugh, and his smile now is more sheepish. “Your breakfast is on the table. They’re waffles.”

You go to sit at the small dining table, plate of waffles and a bottle of… the front of it says syrup. You assume you’re meant to pour it on the waffles since it’s next to them, so you do before grabbing the fork and eating. It’s crunchy and the syrup is incredibly sweet on your tongue—delightful is how you would describe it. It makes you smile, and you don’t look up from the food as Peter sits across from you with his plate of toast and jam.

“Remember how I mentioned I know someone who might be able to help us?” Peter begins.

You look up as you chew your current mouthful and nod.

“We should be able to visit him today. When I get back from school.”

You swallow. “He can help me get back to Galerion?”

The hope in your eyes is so genuine that when he nods, there’s an uneasy feeling in his chest knowing that he’s lying. He’s thankful you’re not a mind reader. “He’ll know more, if anything. He has better resources.”

“Wonderful.” You smile, and Peter’s chest feels tighter.

During lunch, he eats quickly so he can copy down Ned’s history notes from yesterday. He’d been able to pay more attention in class today, luckily, so his own notes for the day are fine.

“I do  _not_ feel ready for this test,” Ned remarks exasperatedly as he looks at the notes spread out on the table, just now realizing how much information he’ll need to know come Friday.

Peter chuckles, never pausing in his writing. “You always say that and you end up doing fine.”

“Well what if I don’t this time?”

“You say that too. You’re always wrong.”

This makes Ned laugh. “Well at least when the test is over we’ll be stress-free for a little while.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, but it’s a lie, at least for him. Will this issue even be sorted by then? The history test is minuscule compared to the whole  _Caligari is real and I need to find him_  problem. With Tony things definitely could move faster, but even then, Friday seems like it’s cutting it close. And speak of the devil…

Peter’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out to see a new text.

_From: Tony Stark_

_Of course. Something wrong?_

Peter purses his lips as he rereads the message over and over again, as if those last two words will change should he do it enough times. He sends his response quickly then tucks his phone back in his pocket, because history, for once, is the least stressful thing on his mind, and it is a relief (this is the first and hopefully last time he’ll say that).

_To: Tony Stark_

_I think it’s better if I tell you in person._

Ned evidently notices the seriousness which overtakes his friend’s face, as it shifts from one that’s relaxed to one that’s tense. “Was that Tony Stark?” he ventures to ask.

Peter glances at him quickly then turns his attention back to his notes. “It was.”

Ned nods. Usually Peter will get excited and gush about what Tony’s told him, since it usually entails going on cool missions or getting cool gear. But this time Peter doesn’t say anything more, and Ned understands that it is a private matter, so he leaves it alone.

Come the end of the school day, Tony hasn’t responded. There’s probably a million different things running through his head about what Peter could possibly have to tell him, because with the lives that they live, it can be just about anything. It’s not really possible to narrow it down either with such a vague message. Peter doubts he’ll guess “D&D characters come to life.”

The pen is a heavy weight in his pocket as he heads home, and he keeps a hand over it, as if scared it’ll disappear. When he passes the thrift store he wonders if there are any other magical artifacts in there, or scattered throughout New York, even, that are unaccounted for. He then wonders about the pen specifically, about how long it might’ve been sitting there until he came across it. He’d only seen it because it was near the counters, as though someone had changed their mind last minute and put it down, but before then it could’ve been hidden amongst other items on the shelves for who knows how long.

Happy picks the two of you up. He pulls up to the front of the apartment building, and Peter opens the back door. Before he can tell you to get inside, Happy starts to speak.

“Who is she?” he inquires, pointing at you.

“This is Neoma,” Peter responds, then realizes that’s not actually what Happy is asking. He rushes to elaborate. “She’s relevant to the issue I need to talk to Tony about.”

Happy raises a brow. He doesn’t look so convinced as his gaze shifts from Peter to you and then back again. “You’re not exactly suppose to be bringing friends along. I thought you understood that.”

“Please. She needs to be there.”

There’s another bout of silence before Happy sighs heavily, waving the two of you in. Peter helps you into the back and you slide to the far end, studying the interior. You run your fingers over the leather seats and the stitching which holds it together.  _Amazing_.

Happy merges back into traffic. There’s no music playing. “In what way is she relevant?”

Peter’s about to reply when he glances at you. You’re not wearing a seatbelt. He quickly leans over, reaching for your seatbelt and muttering to you about needing to wear it. He helps you buckle in while he addresses Happy’s question. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Fifteen minutes into the drive and you discover the window switch. It’s more an accident than anything, and you flinch in surprise when the screen lowers. Peter observes as you lower it all the way and lean your head out just a little. The wind blows your hair back but your smile is wide as you watch the scenery zoom past. At a stoplight, you pull up next to a car with a dog in it. His head also sticks out the window, and you wave to him. He looks almost like he’s smiling, tongue hanging out of his mouth. When the light turns green, you study the dog as both your cars move down the street, until Happy makes a right turn and you’re on a new street.

All the while the radio had remained off, but suddenly there’s static. Peter and Happy are the ones to notice this and find it unusual. You’re still preoccupied looking out the window. And then someone begins to speak, and it is thunder.

“You humans are… a strange species. You always long for someone to follow. You might think you’re independent. That you listen to no rules but your own. But there is always a person, a leader to whose will you bend.”

Peter’s eyes are wide because he thinks, no, he  _knows_ who this is. It can’t be anyone else. He looks to you. You’ve turned your attention to the radio as you listen to the one who speaks, and your expression is dark. You recognize who it is as well.

“Those who rule you are weak.The human race is weak. You’re fallible, temporary. You bend your knee to the wrong leaders. I can guide you down a path better than the one you’re on. To a path of power. Others will cower before you. You will never worry about opposition or danger. I am Caligari, destroyer of worlds. Submit to me and you will never fear again. Send your leaders to me as a sign of submission. You will know where. You have 24 hours. They will bow on your behalf, or I leave nothing in this city alive.” Just like that, the radio turns off again.

“What the hell was that?” Happy asks, mostly to himself, and he isn’t expecting Peter to actually answer.

Peter sighs uneasily. “That’s the issue I need to talk to Tony about.”

Once at the facility, Happy guides the two of you inside. There are a lot of busy-looking people outside, and they don’t give second glances to you. You wonder if they’re in such a rush because of what’s just happened. Things are just as frantic inside. Whoever you’re here to speak with must clearly be important.

Happy comes to a stop at a door in a hallway quieter than the lobby had been. He knocks and the voice on the other side immediately tells him to come in. So he twists the doorknob and pushes the door open.

“Peter! Great, you’re here. Come in.” Tony stands, and when he begins walk over, he notices you peeking out from behind Peter’s shoulder. “And I see you’ve brought a friend.” His brow raises as he looks at Happy.

“Peter insisted she had to come,” he explains.

“Uh…” said boy begins awkwardly. “This is Neoma. She’s… She’s sort of involved in what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “I don’t suppose what you wanted to talk to me about had anything to do with that whole villainous monologue that took over less than half an hour ago?” He nods to Happy, who nods back before taking his leave.

Peter looks away, finds the far wall much more interesting. When he gains the courage to look back, Tony’s leaning against the front of his desk, arms crossed and an expression on his face which reads all business. Peter sighs, glances at you. The lie leaves his mouth weirdly easily. “It is. Something’s transported that man on the radio—and Neoma—to our world. I’m not sure what it could be.”

“We’re from a realm called Galerion,” you elaborate. “The one you heard is Caligari. My companions and I had been hunting him after he destroyed a city-state. I’ve seen the power that he wields, and if we don’t stop him, everyone  _will_ die.”

Tony’s gaze shifts between the two of you as he processes this information. “I can’t do much, but I know someone who’s familiar with things like this.” As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. All three occupants of the room turn to the newcomer as he steps inside. “Peter, Neoma, meet Doctor Stephen Strange. He contacted me yesterday about sensing mystical disturbances in New York, wondered if I’d noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“I’d been looking into it since then, but now with this…” Stephen trails off.

“Caligari,” you tell him.

Stephen nods in thanks. “Now with this Caligari, we know for certain there are other magical presences.” Stephen’s eyes slide over to you. “And I assume you’re one of them.” The magical energy pulsing from your being is hard to ignore. He can sense it all—your ability to use magic, the fact you’re not from this world to begin with.

“I am,” you respond. “I’m a mage. From Galerion. You’re a magic user as well?”

“I’m a sorcerer.” There’s something that flashes in your eyes. It looks like admiration. “Now… Neoma, was it? What can you tell us about Caligari?”

“He’s a shapeshifter. I couldn’t tell you what to look for because he could be anyone. He’s very strong, and he fights alone.”

“So we fight back,” Peter states matter-of-factly. Before, when it was only you and him, fighting Caligari was equivalent to having  a death wish, but with Tony and now Stephen, the scales are more evened out.

“Not quite,” Tony says. “We can’t risk damaging the city in the process. There’s been enough of that in the past and the government’s already clamped down hard.”

Stephen crosses his arms as he thinks. “There’s the mirror dimension. Anything we do there will have no consequences in the real world.”

"He’s incredibly resistant to magic.” You shake your head. “He’d have to be greatly weakened before you could do that.”

Tony claps his hands together. “Peter and I can help with that, no problem. We just need to keep the damage to a minimum.”

“Neoma and I can focus on keeping the environment stabilized until we can bring Caligari to the mirror dimension,” Stephen comments.

“And then how will I return?” At this question, all three pairs of eyes turn to you. “To Galerion? Once he’s no longer a threat, we find out what brought both of us here, and we reverse it, yes?”

No one says anything. Stephen narrows his eyes in question and his gaze slides to Peter. “Peter, can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

When the two of them are in the hallway alone, Peter knows it’s time to come clean. The stretch of hallway feels larger than ever considering how they’re the only ones there, and it is eerily quiet. He takes a deep breath to steel himself in preparation for the sorcerer’s questions.

“She said she was from Galerion. When I sensed those disturbances, they weren’t the result of inter-universal travel. They just appeared from out of nowhere.”

“I know.” Peter swallows nervously. “I… This was all my fault.”

Stephen raises a brow, but he stays silent to give Peter a chance to explain himself. Said boy fishes out the pen from his pocket. “I picked this up in the thrift store last week. Neoma and Caligari are characters in the Dungeons and Dragons campaign I’m playing with my friends. I drew them both with that pen and the next day, Neoma showed up in my room. I assume Caligari spawned the same day, but I have no idea where.”

Stephen takes the pen and turns it over in his hand. Nothing about it looks unusual, nor can he sense anything from it the way he’d sensed the magic radiating from you and Caligari. “I’ll need to bring this to the sanctum to study and keep safe. We can’t have magical artifacts ending up in the wrong sorts of hands.” He turns his attention back to Peter. “So what have you told Neoma?”

"I said she’d been transported from Galerion (that’s the universe in our campaign). She knew how to handle that information because she’s a mage and inter-universal travel… it’s not bizarre to her. And I didn’t want to try to explain that she’d just come to life because she’d refuse to believe me, probably end up leaving to try and find a solution herself. And who knows how that could’ve gone? I don’t have experience with magic. Lying was… It seemed like the best course of action. I wanted to sort out this problem myself.” Peter feels a little lighter when he finally gets this off his chest. The thoughts had been a storm in his mind, and being unable to share it with anyone was weighing on him. It doesn’t make anything better, certainly, but now it’s finally out in the open.

Stephen sighs as he looks at the young boy. Though his intentions had been good, it was still wrong, and has perhaps made things worse. Just beyond the door to his right is a girl who’d been lied to by the first person she’d encountered here. What comes next he speculates may be more difficult to deal with than if Peter had simply told you the truth. But at least he’ll be here, in case things should go south. “You know you have to tell her the truth right now.”

Peter purses his lips, staring past Stephen and down the corridor which seems to stretch for miles. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, his gaze is back on the sorcerer, and there is determination on his face. “I know, and I will.”

You sit in one of the chairs across Tony’s desk, hands folded on your lap. Tony himself has begun pacing, his eyes shifting from staring at the floor to the door, where just outside Stephen and Peter are talking about… well he doesn’t know. When he turns back around to begin pacing the opposite direction, his gaze settles on you. You’re now fingering the hem of the flannel you wear. Tony will be honest—you certainly don’t look like a magic user. Not when put next to Stephen, in his robes and fluttery cape.

“So, your hair,” Tony starts, grabbing your attention.

You look up at him with a tilt of your head. “What about my hair?”

“Is it naturally like that?”

At first you don’t catch on to what he’s saying, but then you remember Peter telling you that in this universe, having white hair is commonly reserved for those who are older. You nod.

Tony crosses his arms. “Huh. It’s very”—he waves his hand as if trying to search for the right word—“bright.”

“Well, white  _is_ a bright color,” you respond, smiling slightly in amusement.

Tony chuckles at your little quip. “You know, I used to work with someone who had white hair too.”

“Was he old?”

“No.” Tony laughs. “No, he wasn’t much older than you actually.”

You smile. You wonder who it is, and why the expression on Tony’s face becomes the tiniest bit more somber as he stares at the ground.

The door opens and the both of you watch as Peter steps inside. Stephen doesn’t follow, remaining instead in the doorframe with a hand on the knob. He glances at you, then looks to Tony. “Why don’t we give them some time alone?” he suggests. Tony doesn’t ask any questions. He nods and joins Stephen out in the hallway, and Peter remains standing as he watches the door close, where on the other side Stephen is no doubt filling in Tony about what’s happening. And then it’s just the two of you, and Peter really wishes he could disappear.

“Is something the matter?” At your quiet inquiry, Peter turns around. You sit up straighter in the chair, hands folded again.

“Um… There’s something I have to tell you,” Peter tells you uneasily, sitting in the chair across from yours. Your brows furrow as you try to figure out what that could mean, what he could possible have to tell you. “It’s about Galerion.”

He pauses, and he doesn’t meet your gaze. He’s staring at his hands which rest on his lap. You speak up, to encourage him to continue. “Go on.”

“Galerion isn’t real, Neoma,” he admits softly, finally gaining the will to look you in the eye. There’s only confusion swirling in them.

“It  _is_ real, Peter. I told you. I was somehow transported from there to here and—”

“Galerion is a universe my friends and I made up for a game called Dungeons and Dragons. Everything you know about that world isn’t real. You were the character  _I_  created. That background of yours, being a wizard’s apprentice, I gave you that. The fact you’re a mage at all, I made that decision. All the monsters you faced and the spells you know, you know because _I_ was the one to do all that.” He can’t help the way the confession spills out of him, like a knocked over glass of water, quickly and with no precision. It just comes out.

“You’re here  _because of me_ ,” he continues. The last half comes out as a whisper, as though he doesn’t have the resolve to admit it out loud, that all of this was his doing. “There’s a pen I found, and I had no idea it was a mystical object. I drew youand Caligari with it, and now the both of you are here. You both seem to have come to life with the knowledge of everything that’s happened in the game so far.”

With every word that leaves his mouth your eyes become a little bit more distraught, a little bit more saddened. And he’s  _so sorry_ , he  _is_ , and he realizes how much of an idiot he’s been and he hates himself for picking up that pen and drawing anything with it because if he hadn’t, there wouldn’t be this whole mess and he wouldn’t become so attached to a character he’s made, to the point that when he quite literally tells you all you know is a lie and you’re holding back tears as you listen, he’s scared you’ll hate him and it breaks his heart. Even if you’d only been here a day, it feels like he’s known you forever.  

“Why did you lie?” you ask. Despite all the emotions overwhelming you right now, that give you the urge to cry or yell or  _something_ , it is the only thing that leaves your mouth.

“I was  _scared._  I didn’t know how you would react, if you’d get angry and try to leave or what, and I couldn’t risk you getting loose. And it was  _stupid,_ I  _know_ , because I made you after all and I should know how you would act but I… I _panicked_.” Peter finally looks you in the eye and the expression on his face is nothing but remorse.  

“I wouldn’t have gotten mad, Peter,” you tell him. “I had no intention of hurting you, no matter how outlandish your answer when I asked how I got here. You’re the first person I met, and you hadn’t attacked me on the spot. I would have listened.”

If Peter finding the pen and using it was inevitable, he at least wishes he could rewind time to when you first showed up in his room, so that he could be truthful right from the start. There had for a brief moment been a feeling in his gut that he  _did_ know that should he tell you the truth, you would hear him out, allow him to explain himself, because that’s in your nature. He played the campaign with the same mindset. But he’d gone against it and he ended up paying for it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He’ll repeat it a hundred times if you wanted him to, but right now with the way you look at him, you just don’t want him to say anything.

The door creaks open and Tony pokes his head in. “We good to go?”

Peter sighs, glances at you. You’re avoiding his gaze, settling for staring at Tony’s desk. Peter nods. “Yeah.” It comes out a little hoarse, so he clears his throat and repeats himself. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Tony enters fully and Stephen follows behind before closing the door. The atmosphere is still tense but they move things along in an effort to dispel the heavy mood. Tony walks over to his desk and takes a seat, and Stephen stands a little bit behind where Peter and you sit. “No doubt Secretary Ross is already on his way over here to ask what the hell all that was about earlier,” Tony starts. “I’ll need to talk to him, let him know we’re taking care of it. In the meantime, good ol’ Cal’s given us 24 hours before he does anything. We group up first thing tomorrow and get this son of a bitch before he can start wreaking havoc on the city.”

Stephen ends up leaving the premises via one of his portals. He’s there one second then gone the next, and soon it’s just you and Peter in the hallway. When Happy finds you again, the two of you trail behind him as you walk back outside to the car. The silence is awkward but it’s less tense. Peter doesn’t say anything in case you still need time to think it all through. He wants to look at you to see if you’re doing okay, but he’s too nervous to do that, and instead keeps his gaze straight ahead.

“I don’t hate you, Peter, if that’s what you think,” you pipe up quietly, to ensure it’s only Peter that hears you.

He glances at you and while you’re still staring in front of you, he can see that your face is perfectly neutral. No tears, no frown, no knitted brows. “You don’t?” He needs the confirmation because he’s not entirely sure he’d heard you correctly.

“I don’t. I’m disappointed, and will need time to fully process it all, but…” You shrug. “You’re still my friend. Nothing will change that.”

Peter’s face gives way to a smile. The weight in his chest seems to dissipate at your words, and he realizes the hold you have on him without even trying. You are special to him. Had been before you came to life, when you were just a character in his imagination. He’d built you with all the traits he strived to imitate. You are altruistic, determined, forgiving. Now he’s on the receiving end of such attributes and it’s surreal. You’ve been here long enough that perhaps he should be adjusted to your presence, but then you hit him with that— _he’s your friend_. And he’s blown away all over again by the fact you’re here and there is wonder in your eyes when you observe his world and you call him your friend of your own volition. It hits home that you’re your own person now.

“I’m glad to be your friend,” he states. It’s the only thing he can think to say.

You look up at him, wearing a small smile of your own. “I’m glad you’re my friend too.”

During the drive back to the apartment, Peter finally gets a chance to glance at his phone. There are two messages. The first one is from Aunt May:  _Late night tonight. Text you when I’m on my way home._ The second is from Ned:  _Was it just me or did someone named Caligari just threaten to destroy New York?_ When Peter reads this, he closes his eyes and sighs. He hadn’t filled Ned in on this. He’d never planned to, wanting to try and get it solved as quickly as possible. He sits there for a moment, contemplating what to say in reply, whether or not to reply at all even. So to stall, he sends a response to Aunt May:  _Okay. Stay safe._ He types slowly, but before long that message is sent, and he opens up his conversation with Ned and writes his reply:  _Wasn’t just you, man. I am freaked._ He hits send.

Once at the flat, you wait patiently for Peter to unlock the front door. “My aunt isn’t home,” he tells you. “Won’t be for a while, so you don’t have to stay in the room.” He makes dinner for both of you while you change, and when you emerge from his bedroom you’re wearing his Midtown sweatshirt and his track pants again. He glances up when you enter the kitchenette and you smile back shyly.

“I know I have my own clothes now but I hope you don’t mind. These are comfortable.”

He smiles and shakes his head as he returns his attention to the food on the stove. “No, of course I don’t mind.”

“Thank you.” You start to amble over to the living room when Peter speaks up again.

“They look good on you, those clothes.”

You turn around to look at him, then glance down at your attire. “They’re very ill-fitting. I wouldn’t exactly say this looks good.”

Peter turns the stove off. That’s right. You’re not really familiar with the idea of a girl wearing a guy’s clothes, or why it’s so nice when you do. His cheeks warm at the prospect of having to explain it to you. He rifles through the cupboards for two bowls and then one of the drawers for forks. “Well, here, when a girl wears a guy’s clothes, it’s special, I guess. And that’s sort of the appeal—that it’s too big.”

You tilt your head. You’re still not understanding. “Why is it special?”

He’s dug himself a hole now. He doesn’t quite have the will to turn around and face you because he’s sure his cheeks are visibly reddened now. “Guys just… They like when a girl wears their clothes because… Well it looks nice.” He closes his eyes and suddenly gets the urge to crawl in a hole in which to hide forever. He sounds  _so lame_.

“Any girl?”

This just keeps getting worse. Why had he said anything in the first place? It had just  _slipped out!_ Clearly he wasn’t thinking about what would follow, as inexperienced as you are with all these little details he never thinks about. He doesn’t answer right away, just focuses for now on transferring the mac and cheese from the pot and into the bowls. He tries to wait out the warmth in his cheeks but it remains, and when the bowls are filled, he turns around and leans against the counter.

“Ah, no…” He sets his hands on the counter, fingers curling around the edge. Suddenly the painting on the far wall looks incredibly interesting. “Just… Just the girl they like.” Silence follows, and he nervously slides his eyes over to where you stand. There’s no visible reaction on your face to the statement and he wonders if you caught on (he sort of hopes not because he’d basically admitted his feelings without even meaning to— _nice one, Peter)._ Even if you did have anything to say, the doorbell rings, which would’ve cut you off anyway.

When it does ring, Peter’s eyes shoot to the door in a panic. His phone had been sitting next to him while he was making food and Aunt May hadn’t texted him. Had she forgotten to? He walks to the door to look through the peephole, and he’s not sure if it’s better or worse that the person on the other side is who it is, compared to Aunt May. If anything, the preferred option would be  _nobody at all,_ but life is hardly that nice.

Peter sighs heavily and unlocks the door. When he opens it, he doesn’t do it all the way, using his body to block the gap and hide you from view.

“Hey, Ned, what are you doing here?” He smiles and tries to look happily surprised but on the inside he’s irritated Ned had shown up without warning.

“Um, hello, that whole Caligari demanding we obey him thing? Like, what the hell, man?”

“Couldn’t you have, you know, texted or called me?”

Ned looks at Peter like he’s grown a second head. “Are you kidding me? This is  _crazy!_ This Caligari literally sounds like he’s straight out of our D&D campaign. No, I couldn’t have just texted or called.” He pauses and takes in how Peter is blocking the gap in the door, how he looks very nervous. That’s unusual, since they’re best friends after all, and normally Peter would be welcoming him in immediately. “You okay?”

“Uh, this isn’t really… the  _best_ time…”

Ned’s brows furrow. “Why not?”

Peter grits his teeth. Well, he supposes he’s already screwed himself over enough tonight. Go big or go home, right (well, ignoring the fact he  _is_ home)? “I have a girl over.”

Ned’s eyes go wide as saucers. “ _What?_ ” he all but yells, and Peter rushes to shush him and peeks his head out to make sure no one is in the hallway. “ _Who?_ ”

“You don’t know her, Ned, she—”

“You know who Caligari is?” The sound of your voice prompts Peter to shut up, and Ned tries to peek over his shoulder. It isn’t a voice he recognizes.

With a heavy sigh, Peter opens the door wider and stands to the side. The first thing Ned notices is your white hair because  _wow_ , it’s kind of hard  _not_  to notice. The second thing he notices is the fact you’re wearing Peter’s clothes. He can’t help the smirk that finds its way to his face as he looks at his best friend, and Peter catches on immediately. He shakes his head quickly.

“ _No_ ,“ he begins, “it’s not  _like_ that—“

“Not like what?” you ask, not understanding the silent exchange the two had just had.

“Not like anything!” Peter exclaims. His cheeks are burning again, no thanks to Ned. “Look—I just—“ He huffs. This is too much for him. “Ned, this is Neoma. Neoma, this is my friend Ned.”

“What, like your D&D character Neoma?” Ned asks. He’s mostly joking, but his smile drops when Peter nods. Well, that would certainly explain your hair. He turns to you again, thinks about the implications about your presence. “But then, if she’s here, then that means that the Caligari from earlier is…”

“That’s our Caligari,” Peter confirms.

Ned’s face lights up. “Dude, that is  _so awesome!_ ”

Peter’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, silently telling Ned to take that back right now because when he glances at you, your brows are furrowed and your eyes are narrowed. Luckily Ned realizes his error quickly and all mirth leaves his face as he looks back at you. “I mean… that’s  _horrible_.” There’s a few seconds of silence, and then: “Wait, how are they  _here?_ ”

“There’s a pen I found at the thrift store last week,” Peter starts as he closes the door. “Apparently it’s a magical artifact with the power to make drawings real. So when I drew Neoma and Caligari, they came to life.”

“Which pretty much means there’s a shapeshifting, power-hungry maniac on the loose in New York.”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” Ned plops down on the couch and tries to process all this information. It’s quite difficult to tell if it was said in disbelief or excitement. “Shit just got real.” Peter might’ve laughed if it weren’t so true.

“You know who Caligari is?” you ask, sitting down on the other couch.

Ned looks up at you. “Yeah. I created him.”

“Like the way Peter created me?”

“Basically.” He nods, and then proceeds to question you. “So you’re really a mage?”

“I am.”

“Huh. I thought you’d look… magier.” You tilt your head and wonder what he means by that. His attention shifts to Peter when he takes a seat as well. “So the two of you are going to take down Caligari?”

“Not alone. We have help,” Peter responds.

“Who?”

“Tony Stark and Stephen Strange.”

“ _You met Doctor Strange?_ ” The tone of Ned’s voice and the look on his face can only be described as awe. He looks back and forth between the two of you. “Well, was he nice?”

Peter shrugs. “He’s a nice guy, I guess. We didn’t really get to talking much outside of the mission stuff.”

“I can’t believe you’re working with him! I mean first Iron Man, now the mystical defender of Earth? I mean, who’s next?  _Thor?_ ”

“This isn’t a permanent thing.” Peter holds up a hand as if to tell Ned to slow down. “It’s just for this mission. He has the experience.”

“But  _still!_ ” Ned doesn’t say anything more than that, assuming that that should be an adequate response. He feels so excited that his best friend has met Doctor Strange. He feels like he met the man himself purely by association alone.

Suddenly Peter stands and walks into the kitchenette. “I totally forgot I made mac and cheese. Did you want some, Ned?”

Said boy turns to watch Peter take his place at the stove again. “Sure!”

A smile had found its way to your face as you watched their interaction. “The two of you seem very close,” you remark.

Ned looks back at you and smiles, shrugs offhandedly. “We’ve been best friends for like, well,  _ever_. He’s the only person I know of that’s as big a fan of  _Star Wars_ as I am.”

“What’s  _Star Wars_?”

You’re caught quite off guard by the barrage of information Ned throws at you while you all eat, but if there were only one thing you gained from being a wizard’s apprentice, it’s the ability to absorb heaps of information without getting lost or overwhelmed. It helps that you’re deeply interested as well. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever heard of before. You ask many questions, your inner student becoming apparent once again, and Ned and Peter are eager to answer. You have much to learn about this universe, but you think this  _Star Wars_  is a good place to start.

“So your aunt doesn’t know Neoma is here?” Ned asks when you’ve gone to go to the bathroom.

Peter shakes his head. “No. Neoma just stays in my room.”

Ned nods then glances at the clock. He sighs. “I should probably get going. Still got my homework to do. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“No, you won’t actually. We’re going after Caligari.” Peter sighs heavily. He stands up and walks his friend to the front door, and you join them when you emerge from the bathroom.

“It was nice to meet you, Ned,” you say with a smile.

Said boy smiles back. “Nice to meet you too, Neoma. A little surreal too, to be honest. I mean, a D&D character come to life? That’s not something you see every day.”

Peter laughs. “Well when you’ve got radioactive spiders and sorcerers that can control time, how much more of a stretch could this have been?”

“Touché, Parker. Touché.” Ned’s face becomes serious then. “But for real, good luck, you two.”

When he leaves, you retreat to the bedroom, feeling tired after the engaging lesson you’d had on a prominent piece of the space opera genre. Peter washes the dishes in the sink, and it’s while he’s there that he gets a text from Aunt May that she’s finally on her way home. When the bowls and forks are clean, he goes to take a shower. The front door opens when he exits the bathroom, and he walks down the hall into the living room to greet his aunt.

“Hey,” he pipes up quietly, so as not to startle her.

Aunt May looks up from setting her keys in the bowl and smiles softly as she adjusts her glasses slightly. “Hey, Peter. How was your day?”

“Same old, same old.” He shrugs. “How about yours?”

She sighs. “Long.”

“Did you want me to make you some food?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She waves a hand. “I ate earlier. But thank you. I think I’m just going to change and go to sleep.”

He nods, smiling and remaining where he is as she approaches. He leans into her touch when she kisses his head, then watches as she retreats to her room. When she shuts the door, he glances at the clock. He probably should be going to sleep now if he wants to be alert come tomorrow morning. But he’s not sure if he’ll be able to. Adrenaline pumps through his veins just at the though to the impending fight.

You’re laying on the bed when he goes back to the room, but you’re not asleep. You’re just staring up at the top bunk. When the door creaks open, you smile as you look at him.

“Sorry about Ned showing up by surprise like that,” Peter apologizes.

You chuckle. “Don’t be. I’m glad I met him. He’s very sweet.”

This comment elicits a smile from Peter. The two of you did get along very well. “I guess it’s time we get some sleep then. Big day tomorrow.” He grabs the extra pillow and blankets he’d set at the foot of the bed and throws them down on the floor. He’s just about to settle down when you sit up quickly.

“I told you I could take the floor,” you comment, standing up.

Peter shakes his head. “No, don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

“This is your room.”

“You’re my guest.”

“I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”

“All the more reason for you to enjoy the bed.” The neither of you budges from your position, standing across the room from each other, until eventually Peter sighs. “Please?” HIs smile is sheepish and you crack, shaking your head. But you’re smiling as well.

“Fine then.” You pull back the bedsheets and plop down. “But if you feel any discomfort, just tell me—”

“I’ll be okay, Neoma. Promise.” Peter settles down on the ground and gives you another reassuring smile.

He doesn’t fall asleep right away. When the room is dark and you’ve long since dozed off, he’s laying on his back, eyes drawn to the light reflecting off the walls from the cars that periodically pass by. It’s not until he’s here that he truly realizes the gravity of what’s happening tomorrow. Caligari is a real life Dungeons and Dragons boss battle, simple as that. It’s cool to think of at first, but then it makes him nervous because Caligari  _is_ powerful, and this is real life. Peter’s never faced a mystical adversary before. He’s not looking at a map or rolling die or consulting a Dungeon Master. There will be no one to merely tell him the consequences of the actions he chooses to take—he’ll see them for himself. There is no fictional city to protect—he is protecting New York, a city that’s very real and a city that is home to him. There’s no character for him to control—he fights as himself, and he’ll fight alongside you.

He rolls onto his stomach and curls his arms under his pillow, feeling the coolness of the underside. He can’t believe the week is only halfway done by this point. It feels like much,  _much_ more time has passed.

———

THURSDAY

It’s dark again this morning, darker than usual. When Peter glances out the window, there’s a swirl of clouds looming over a specific area. It’s a little too far for him to be able to tell what area. Some other buildings block the view. His phone vibrates and he crosses the room quickly to swipe it up off his desk.

_From: Tony Stark_

_That’s the World’s Fair ruin. Meet you there._

Peter sends off a reply quickly— _Meet you there_ —before grabbing his suit to put it on. When it’s secured and fit snug to his body, you come back into the room. You’d gone to the bathroom to shower and change since Aunt May left a while ago. Peter glances at you as he picks up his mask and smiles. You’re in your mage robes again, and a part of him feels so proud as he looks at you. You toss his clothes you’d been using for pajamas down on his bed, and smile back when you spot him staring at you.

“Are you okay?” you inquire.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” He trails off for a moment and chuckles. “It’s weird seeing you in those robes again. I’d almost forgotten you were a mage at all.”

“They’re comfortable to fight in, and I didn’t want to ruin any of my nice clothes.” You shrug.

Peter walks back to the window and undoes the latches, then slides it up, allowing the cool air to flood in. Was it just him, or did the clouds get darker the past few minutes he’d spent not looking outside? “Hey, d’you need a lift over there?” he asks. You join him at the window and immediately your eyes shoot to the swirling clouds in the distance.

“No, that won’t be necessary.” The look Peter gives you is skeptical, his brow raised as though to ask if you’ll be going on foot, and you laugh. Without a word you stick a hand out, and he watches attentively as purple wisps materialize in your palm. The number of little wisps increase, becoming so dense it’s like a ball. There’s a quite  _whoosh_  as a translucent blue griffin appears in front of the window, hovering steadily and awaiting its rider.

His eyes widen as he stares at it, its eyes trained straight ahead. He can see through it, but everything is distorted, the way flames seem to distort what’s past them. The smile on his face is wide in amazement, and it makes you smile as well to see him so fascinated.

“That is  _so cool_ ,“ he remarks, eyes never leaving the griffin.

You laugh. “Shall we go then?”

At this question, Peter comes back to reality. He nods and slips on his mask, eyepieces enlarging and shrinking a couple times as they calibrate. “Let’s go.”

You fly higher up, eyes trained on the destination, and Peter follows closely, swinging this way and that. Soon enough you close in on the old fairgrounds, and you lean your body forward, flattening yourself as your griffin takes a dive. It lands in a cluster of trees, and when you dismount, it disappears, blue wisps all that remain when Peter catches up. The two of you stay where you are, studying what you can of the cement structures for any sign of where Caligari might have chosen to hide. For all the two of you know, it could be at the very top of the observation tower.

“You nervous?” Peter asks suddenly.

You shrug. “A little. And I know it doesn’t make sense to say this anymore because they’re not real, but I can’t help but feel strange going into this without my companions.”

“It was real to you. It’s not strange at all. And if anything… you have us.” He smiles comfortingly.

When he says this, you smile back. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

As if on cue there’s the sound of jets as Tony flies in, and Stephen slowly lowers to the ground, his cloak billowing from the wind. “There you guys are. We saw the griffin—very cool,” Tony comments, hovering steadily a few feet in the air. “You ready to do this?”

With a glance to you, Peter nods. No turning back now. “We’re ready.”

Usually the area around the old fairgrounds is quiet to begin with. Not many people come this way. But now it’s completely empty, and the creepiness is emphasized with how much darker it seems in this spot compared to the rest of Queens. Your eyes slide up uneasily toward the observation tower which extends far above you, the metal supports rusty and the concrete worn and aged. The cable suspensions of the old pavilion are in a similar state of deterioration. Vines have looped around some of the concrete columns, have completely covered the fences after years without maintenance. It might have been beautiful to behold on any other day, this desolate lot. But right now, it’s a battleground.

“Someone comes at last. Though by the look of you, I assume you’re not here to submit.”

The four of you come to a stop. Caligari is standing at the edge of the lower observation deck, but despite the distance, his voice carries clearly. Your gaze darkens at the sight of him. He’s taken the form of a man—dark hair and dark eyes. He would’ve been completely unassuming these last couple of days. His eyes rove over you all, but when they finally settle on you, you swear he smirks a little.

With the ease of a creature that’s not human, he jumps all the way down, landing with such force that the asphalt beneath his feet cracks like a meteor landing on earth. He stands. His eyes meet yours again.

“Neoma.” The smile he wears appears genuine, but the look in his eyes is menacing. “How have you been?”

“We’re not here to make small talk, buddy,” Tony interrupts, voice echoing within his suit.

Caligari grits his teeth and looks towards him. “I was not addressing you. It would do you well to hold your tongue.”

“No, he’s right,” you comment, voice coming out surprisingly steady despite how fast your heart is beating. “We’re not here to talk. We’re here to stop you.”

The smile hasn’t left Caligari’s face. He asks another question. “And how are your friends, what were there names again… Amaund, Hircine, and Jora, was it?” He makes a show of looking around. “I don’t see them anywhere.”

Peter recognizes the names instantly, the way you no doubt do. They’re the other party members from the campaign. He glances at you to see how you’ve reacted, but your face betrays nothing. Your expression is one that’s almost too cool considering the situation at hand, standing before your greatest enemy. His eyes slide down to your hands, where your fingers twitch slightly, barely noticeable, but evidence that you’re aching to start fighting, because Caligari is so close and you won’t let what happen to Rimmen happen to New York too.

You huff and stand straighter, hands curling into fists. “There’s no sense in dwelling on what’s not here, Caligari. These are my companions now.”

“You think you can stop me?” Caligari all but laughs.

“I know we can,” you respond easily, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Peter can’t help the feeling of pride which swells in his chest.

The fire behind Caligari’s eyes seems to flare, and his face becomes serious. To be honest, it’s frightening. Until now, Peter had always had to imagine the look on Caligari’s face when he first destroyed Rimmen, had razed a city-state like it was nothing. There is nothing but pure power that flows through his veins. He wishes Ned had designed a less powerful enemy, had decided that for his campaign as Dungeon Master, he would still keep their current difficulty, not increase it for a challenge. Peter’s not mad though. No one had any way of knowing that this would happen. The cards have been dealt and now they had to play. But when he glances at you, at the energy already beginning to swirl in your palms, he believes with the utmost confidence he’s created a character strong enough to win. You may not have yet mastered all there is to being a mage, but your will is steel and it is more powerful than any spell.

Caligari starts to transform, shifting from the figure of a man into a minotaur. This is the form you and Peter know him in. It’s his preferred form. His eyes glow and his fists curl and uncurl in a motion of eagerness. You know that if he got a hold on any of you, he’d crush you like a bug.

“You’re welcome to try.” His voice now is much deeper, almost demonic. He holds his right hand out as he conjures a large battle-ax, the summoned weapon emanating purple wisps similar to what had emanated from your hand when you conjured the griffin. He lifts his left hand in the air and conjures numerous demons, with razor sharp teeth and what looks like blood that drips from their claws. They hiss, already in search of their target.

Peter’s widen.  _Holy shit_. Babau.

And then they’re running towards you, and he knows that this is… this is  _real_.

“The slime is acidic. Don’t let it touch you!” you say, a ball of fire materializing in your hand.

“I’m going after Caligari. Peter, on me!” Tony flies over the babau and heads straight for Caligari, who’s already waiting. Peter is quick to follow, using his webs to sling himself higher and out of reach of the demons.

You and Stephen busy yourselves with getting rid of all the babau, of which there seem to be an infinite number. In addition to watching out for each other, you watch out for Peter and Tony, to ensure none of the babau’s shots land on them, for they’re too busy with Caligari to notice quickly enough if something comes their way. They’re already moving fast, coming down on Caligari before they just get knocked back again, like flies, so you’re forced to be even quicker, following shots headed for them and taking them out. With every babau you kill, they dissipate in a black smoke.

There’s a loud crack when Tony throws Caligari into the thick column of the observation tower, but he looks nonplussed. In fact, he looks almost amused. His attacks haven’t slowed and there’s a blue aura which seems to surround him—he’d reinforced his anti-magic field. There was no way you or Stephen could get to him yet. You get rid of another babau coming straight for you, knocking it back with another ball of fire.

Tony is the one to collide with the observation tower column this time, his armor clanking loudly. He knows there will be scuff marks on the metal when this is all over. A lot of them. He launches himself back into the action, dodging around the ax Caligari holds.

The impacts to the concrete column had been powerful, and the cracks they created only get larger. The metal support beams are bent as well and they start to creak precariously, for they’d already been weakened by rust. Suddenly the whole tower starts to fall over. Everyone hears it but you’re the first who can rush toward the column. You stretch your arm out, energy shooting from your palm and towards the impact zone to keep it from getting worse. But this structure is gigantic and you don’t how long you can support it, especially since now you only have one hand free to do any actual fighting and the tower’s already fallen over by a staggering amount.

There’s a hiss behind you and you twist around as best as you can in this limited position, but the babau explodes in an array of smoke and you cough, vision momentarily obscured. When it dissipates, you see Stephen standing some distance away, who nods to confirm you’re okay.

“I need to fix the tower!” you yell to him. You hope he can hear.

He nods again—he had. “I’ll cover you!”

With both hands devoted to supporting the compromised observation tower, you can handle it a little better, but you’re still rushing to repair the damage. It’s already taking an incredible amount of energy to keep the thing from toppling completely over. You grit your teeth and focus on pulling the tower back into position, but it’s a struggle despite concentrating all your power on it.

Peter lands on the asphalt a little harder than he’d meant to, and he grunts. He pushes himself up and behind Caligari and Tony he can see the observation tower suspended by pulsing yellow wisps, and he follows them to you. His eyes widen. For being so early game as you had been when you’d come to life, the powers you exhibit are clearly beyond that. You still catch him by surprise. He’d be smiling if you weren’t in the middle of a fight.

When you finally get the observation tower standing straight again, you’re able to free one of your hands to start repairing the damage. Stephen keeps a close eye on you while you do, but his attention is momentarily diverted when blue wisps form in the air above all of you, which soon gives shape to a translucent wyvern, but whose roar and whose fire breath are very much real. The expression on Stephen’s face can only be interpreted as incredulous at the sight of the thing, and Tony lands with a thud next to him.

“He conjured a  _dragon!_ ” is the only thing Stephen can say at that moment. “You’re supposed to keep him busy!”

“We’re trying!” Tony shouts, because even though they’re next to each other, the chaos is loud. He’s off again the next instant and Stephen rushes to contain the area, creating a force field to surround the whole lot so that whatever damage the wyvern does stays here.

The observation tower is secured when the wyvern swoops down, talons making a grab for you. You roll out of its way and watch as it soars back up into the air, giant wings kicking up wind. Stephen’s getting rid of the last few babau when you rush over to him.

“How’s the observation tower?” he asks.

“It’s fine for now. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“He’s conjured a dragon and we need to get rid of it before he tries to summons something else.”

“It’s a wyvern, actually—”

Stephen raises a brow and you promptly stop talking. “That’s hardly the time for this.”

You nod. “Right. Sorry.”

“How do we kill it?”

“Get it on the ground. It’s significantly easier to defeat when it’s not flying.”

“Got it.”

Caligari is a little slower now, but his swings are still strong, and Peter just barely avoids them, feels the air sliced along the edge of the ax. He’d been keeping an eye on the blue aura surrounding Caligari the whole time. It doesn’t make him invincible against physical attacks and that’s what Tony and Peter have been working on. He’s counting on the moment Caligari’s weak enough that he can’t maintain the shield. But it’s taking longer than he’d anticipated. At least it feels that way. Who knows how long any of you have been here?

Lightning crackles but it doesn’t come from the sky. It comes from the ground, where you stand. You direct it at the wyvern, trying to track it, but what doesn’t hit him collides with the force field with a hiss. When it breathes fire your way, Stephen puts up another field to protect you. When the wyvern staggers, he flies up, and conjures what look like cables made entirely of light. He flings them in the wyvern’s direction, maneuvering himself to get it to wrap around the creature’s neck. When it’s wrapped properly, he descends to earth, trying to pull it along with him. It resists a great deal but he doesn’t budge. You strike it with another current of lightning aimed at its wings and that does the trick—it lands with a thud, dust kicking up and the ground shaking as if the wyvern were real.

There’s no noise when Caligari’s magic resistance field flickers away. Peter just notices there’s no longer a blue shield which surroundings him. His eyes widen and he wants to shout at you and Stephen, but the moment he turns to the two of you, you’re in the air, sword clutched in your hands as you jump toward the wyvern. If he thought the roar was deafening earlier, he was sorely mistaken. The moment the sword is embedded the creature’s head, it screeches painfully, so much so that Peter has to cover his ears.

Because the wyvern is so large, the explosion when it disappears is thunderous. Your conjured weapon disappears along with it. When it’s gone, you look around and notice that there are no more summoned monsters. Stephen notices too, and he looks over at Caligari.

“His field is down,” he points out.

“So we can get him to this mirror dimension, as you said?” you ask between labored breaths.

Stephen smirks. He doesn’t bother concealing how excited he is at the notion of containing another mystical threat. “We can.” He thrusts a hand out and at first nothing happens. But then you see it. Behind Tony and Peter who are still busy with Caligari, there’s what looks like a crack just floating in the air. Then the crack grows and the air distorts, becoming what looks like shards of glass. Tony spots it and times his attack, swooping beneath Caligari’s arm and knocking him straight into the portal.

It’s surreal to step inside. It looks exactly like the fairgrounds you’d just been in, but it  _feels_ different, and everything echoes. None of you has time to be in awe of this dimension because Caligari is back on his feet, running toward you. Stephen closes off the only exit out of this dimension. You’ll need to weaken Caligari even more to keep him from following you back out.

He roars. “ _You cannot contain me!_ ” The echoes are sinister but you stand your ground.

“There’s no getting out of here without the proper tools,” Stephen tells him matter-of-factly. “So actually, we can.”

Caligari still has the strength to fight all four of you, but when the other two are magic users, the scales are tipped in your favor. You and Stephen try to draw his fire, more equipped to deflect it than Peter and Tony are. It’s clear all of you are getting tired. Attacks are more sluggish, and you try to concentrate more, if anything, on dodging and shielding. When you finally spot your opening, you conjure another sword which you immediately turn in your hand so that instead of the blade facing up, it faces the ground. You huff and set off in a sprint, using what little energy you had left to jump up, bringing the blade back.

The force of the impact knocks Caligari onto his back, you on top of him. When you stand, the blade isn’t embedded in Caligari’s chest, but in the ground right above his shoulder. You stand over him, panting heavily. Stephen conjures shackles which keep Caligari’s arms on the ground.

“Too weak to deal the killing blow?” Caligari questions. Despite being defeated, he still has the energy to taunt you.

You look at the conjured sword slowly disappear until it is only wisps, then glance back at Caligari, into those menacing glowing eyes. “Death isn’t an adequate punishment.”

You hear Stephen opening the portal, and without another word you turn around, walking toward it. You spare no glances at any of them when you step through, and no one says anything, knowing you don’t want to be spoken to. You’re too deep in your own thoughts, about what this means now that Caligari is in the mirror dimension. You feel so accomplished, you do, but when you observe your companions, you don’t see Amaund, Hircine, and Jora, and you feel you should. It had been the four of you pursuing him, who had seen his offenses as personal. You wish you could share the glory with them.

Peter’s the first one to venture speaking after the mirror dimension is sealed off. “Hey, you did it!” he tells you excitedly but softly. After the explosions all your ears had just been assaulted by, there’s no need to be loud.

You force yourself to smile and slide your gaze from the ground up to him. “We did it.”

“Another job well done, if I do say so myself,” Tony comments. He’s no longer hovering. His armored boots clank quietly as he walks up.

Stephen crosses his arms as he looks at you. “You exhibit a large amount of control over your powers. I’m impressed.”

“Years of study and practice can work wonders,” you remark with a quiet chuckle.

Stephen smiles when you say this because it reminds him of himself.

"Hey, what time is it anyway?” Peter inquires.

“Lunch time, that’s what time.” Tony claps his hands together then looks at you and Peter. “The two of you can head home to change. I’ll have Happy bring you up to the facility.”

When the two of you are making your way back to Peter’s apartment, the skies are significantly clearer. Peter assesses the bruises on his body while you go to the bathroom to change. There’s one starting to form on his stomach and he sighs. That’ll be an ugly one when it darkens fully. He looks up when you step inside, and your eyes are drawn to the bruise.

“Looks painful,” you comment, setting your mage robes on the desk. You’re in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts now.

“This?” Peter shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

You smile and shake your head as you walk up to him. He watches you in confusion but you don’t notice because you’re still focused on the bruise. His eyes are glued to your hand, to the way your fingers glow. When you bring them up to the bruise, he braces himself, but he doesn’t feel anything except the warmth which flows from your fingertips and over his skin. The bruise is soon gone completely, and your hand returns to normal.

Peter breathes out in awe. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” You smile and nod.

Before you can walk away he speaks up, even though he doesn’t entirely know how he wants to phrase what he’d been thinking about while you were in the bathroom. “Hey, uh…” He swallows, eyes meeting yours. “I could tell you were thinking about them earlier. Your friends. They’d be proud of you.”

You divert your gaze momentarily to stare at the ground. You’d been fine acknowledging your friends weren’t here, but now that Peter had actually said it out loud, you’re trying to hold back tears. He’d told you earlier that despite none of Galerion being real, it felt real to you, and that’s what matters. So though you miss friends who never existed in the first place, you don’t feel pathetic for it. When you look back up at him you smile softly.

“Thank you, Peter. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I showed up here. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. And like you said…” You shrug. “I have you and Tony and Stephen. I’m not without companions after all.”

He smiles, and you tip toe to lay a kiss on his cheek, but something within him tells him to turn his head, and he’s not sure where the urge comes from. He follows through without giving a second thought to it, and maybe he’ll regret it, but it’s too late now because instead of your lips settling on his cheek, they settle against his own.

His heart stops for a moment, wondering if you would pull away, and he’s panicking thinking that maybe this was the wrong move to make, but you stay right where you are. And he comes to terms with a couple of different things when he realizes this. The first is that he likes you—he  _really_ likes you. He’s not entirely sure the exact moment he’d started to feel that way about you, the point in time when he’d look at you and he’d get nervous, warmth blooming in his chest before you even said a word. The second is that you are here to stay. You have much to learn, a ways to go before you’ll be comfortably integrated, but he’d gotten you started. New York is home to you too now. He hopes that he is home to you.

It’s easy to ignore the soreness in your bodies when you’re eating lunch at the Avengers facility. The burgers are the perfect distraction. Tony eyes the two of you on the other end of the table, where you’re joking around between bites of your fries. There’s something…  _different._ He glances at Stephen and the expression his face shows he’s thinking the same thing. But neither of them asks about it.

———

FRIDAY

Peter thought he was sore yesterday. He was  _sorely_ mistaken.

Plopping down in his chair in first period is a struggle. He does it carefully and still winces as his body shifts. This morning he doesn’t struggle to stay awake. It had been more than easy to crash after the ordeal from yesterday. The two of you had fallen asleep earlier than usual, and he’d slept like a baby the whole night. When he left for school, you hadn’t woken up yet. While his teacher begins talking about some new poems, he pulls out his history notebook, glancing at his notes for some last-minute review, since he didn’t get a chance to do it last night.

Come the exam, he isn’t nervous. When they’re given the go ahead, Peter flips the test over and scans the first question with a sense of ease. He’s not too sure if he’s this calm because he’d felt prepared or because he was too tired to entertain the thought of panicking. But as he goes through each question, using the process of elimination to reason his way to the answer and drawing upon everything he can remember studying even up until first period, he’s inclined to say it’s more of the former. He finishes the test early.

“What’d you think of that exam?” Ned asks later that day as they sit down in the cafeteria.

Peter shrugs as he takes his backpack off and sets it down next to him. “Not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“I thought that too, but then I got to question 24 and everything after that was a  _liiiiiitle_ …” Ned lifts his hand and tips it left and right a few times, visualizing his uncertainty.

“I’m sure you did fine, Ned.” Peter smiles. He has a sandwich today. He wishes it was more of those burgers from yesterday.

“I watched the news last night.” Ned changes the subject. “You guys were  _amazing!_ ”

“There was a news crew?” Peter distinctly remembers that whole area being deserted.

“Well, not close by, but you could see some of what was going on even from the other side of Queens. You didn’t see it?”

“No. Fell asleep right away.”

Ned chuckles and nods in understanding as he gets his own food out. “How’s Neoma?”

“Still sleeping when I left.”

“So what happens to her now? She’s not staying in your apartment forever is she?”

“She’ll be moving to the New York sanctum” is all Peter says as he takes a bite of his sandwich. He looks at Ned as he chews, waiting for his friend to piece everything together.

When he does, his eyes light up. “She’s training with Stephen Strange?” His voice is hushed but excited and it makes Peter laugh.

“Stephen and Tony thought it would be best if she did. And she’ll be safer at the sanctum.”

“ _That’s so cool!_ ” The rest of lunch is spent with Ned speculating about what new things you’ll learn, how much more powerful you could get (for he also knows you were technically early-game when you came to life), and then it shifts over to exactly how the two of them in particular will get you familiar with this world. The first on Ned’s list is:  _watch Star Wars._

Peter gives you one of his old backpacks to pack your stuff in. It’s one he hasn’t lost as the result of sticking it to brick alley walls and assuming it would still be there later (he really needs to stop doing that). You don’t have much to bring with you so it has more than enough space. Happy’s giving you a ride to the sanctum on Bleecker Street and the two of you wait for him on the sidewalk.

“You excited?” Peter asks.

“A little nervous. It’s a change from your apartment and I’d already felt so comfortable there.”

“You’ll adjust quickly. I’m sure there’s plenty at the sanctum that’ll have you forgetting about my tiny room in no time,” he jokes.

“Have you seen the sanctum before?”

“I haven’t, but I know it has a lot of magical artifacts. A lot of tomes. It’s the one-stop shop for all things mystical here in New York.”

You think about this, envisioning all the magic you’ll be surrounded with. It’s comforting to know you’re not the only source of magic in this city. There’s Stephen and his whole sanctum, and you’re willing to bet there’s more around the world. You’ll be a student again and you’re ready to learn about the workings of this universe, about the threats which Stephen defends it from and which you’ll no doubt learn to defend against as well. Your magic is part of you, and you’re glad that you can still hone it and build your skills even here.

Peter glances at you when you don’t reply, and he can see excitement flittering in your eyes. He smiles. “See? You’re forgetting about my apartment already and you haven’t even left yet.” The quip makes you laugh.

Happy pulls up within the next few minutes, and Peter opens the back door. You toss your backpack in and turn to him, smile on your face because this is where things start happening. Life as a mage in New York begins the moment you get in that car.

“I’ll see you,” Peter murmurs, leaning down to kiss your head softly. He stays that way for a few seconds, taking in the smell of your hair which is that of his shampoo, since that’s what you’d been using. It makes him smile. After laying one more kiss to your forehead, he helps you get in. He shuts the door and then you’re off, and he watches until the car disappears around the corner.

There’s music quietly floating through the car. You look out the window, watching the scenery passing by, when you remember those straps Peter had helped you put on last time you were in here. You look around your seat for said straps, and your shuffling grabs Happy’s attention.

“You okay back there?” He looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“Those… straps… that I have to wear…” you mutter, still looking.

“Over your right shoulder.”

You smile when you spot the belt there. “Thank you.” You find the buckle and pull it cautiously, the straps extending to accommodate the movement. You pull it across your body and to the latch on your left. It clicks into place and you let go. Now that you’re secured, you go back to looking out the window. You give a quick glance over at Happy and though you can only see the side of his face, you can tell he’s smiling to himself a little in amusement.

When you return your attention to the window, your finger hovers over the window switch button, but you don’t press it, debating with yourself for a moment.

“Did you want the window down?” Happy seemed to have noticed your little dilemma.

“If that’s okay.” You grin sheepishly.

He shrugs and nods, so you lower the window, the wind roaring and blowing your hair back. Traffic here is still pretty tame. It’s when you cross the bridge over into Manhattan that it becomes bumper-to-bumper. It feels like you’re moving at a snail’s pace, but you take all that extra time to take in the buildings here which are so much larger than those where Peter lived. These seemed to stretch to the heavens. You have to lean your head out a little just to see the top of some of them.

You know you’re at your destination because you see Stephen already waiting for you on the steps of the sanctum. Happy pulls up and you grab your backpack, slinging it onto your shoulder. Your hand is poised on the handle so you can open the door, but before you do, you glance back at him, where he’s still facing forward.

“Thank you for the ride,” you begin.

“No problem.” His response is curt.

“You know,” you continue on, “given your name, you don’t smile much. I think you should. It suits you.”

Happy smiles at this comment, not really intending it to be as large as it is. He doesn’t turn to you in hopes of hiding it but you spot it. It makes you smile as well. “Tell Tony I said hello” is the last thing you say before you open the door and hop out, and when it’s closed again, he pulls back out into traffic.

“Hope the ride over here wasn’t too bad,” Stephen says as he walks you inside the sanctum.

Come evening, there are blank character sheets and a new large piece of graph paper sitting on the coffee table in Peter’s apartment for when everyone comes over for tonight’s session. It had been unanimously decided that they should start the campaign over because of the defeat of actual, real-life Caligari at the hands of New York’s resident superheroes. It just didn’t feel right to keep going from where they left off. The others wonder how New York’s latest enemy had the same name as their D&D villain, for it’s not a common one, but Peter and Ned brush it off as coincidence (Ned does just barely).

"So.” Ned holds up the die. He’s sitting at the head of the coffee table, a screen concealing all the information he needs as dungeon master. “Who wants to roll for stats first?”

———

EPILOGUE

Peter visits today.

At first you didn’t see each other often because Manhattan was all the way across the bridge. But once you’d obtained your sling ring, that didn’t matter much anymore. Opening portals to Peter’s apartment building is good practice, and it takes much less time than a car ride. Given the traffic where you’re located, the use of portals is a godsend.

It’s a nice day outside so you take a cab over to Central Park. You can’t take a portal. It’s an open area and you’re not familiar with the whole place yet to know where any hidden spots are. You try to visit whenever you can, but it’ll still be a while before you’ve seen the whole thing. It never ceases to blow your mind how this huge block of nothing but greenery is right in the middle of the city.

“You should come over again soon. Ned wants to watch  _Return of the Jedi_.” You’ve since been formally introduced to Aunt May, as someone Peter met at the Stark internship, and you no longer have to hide when you’re at his place. She complimented your hair, commended you for the even dye job. You didn’t know what that meant but instinct told you to just smile and say thank you.

You hum as you think about the next time you’re free, licking absentmindedly at the ice cream cone you’d bought at the stand near the park entrance. “I should have time tonight if that works.”

Peter raises a brow. “Thought you were doing more mirror dimension practice.”

“Stephen’s been dealing with something over in China with Wong. I don’t think he’ll mind if we skipped one night.”

With a chuckle, Peter wraps his arm around your shoulders to bring you close. You don’t resist, but you’re careful not to get your ice cream on his shirt. “Okay, I’ll text him later and let him know.” He kisses your head.

Some distance away on the grass you see a group of people in costumes. Some wear armor, others wear robes. You can’t hear them too clearly from this far, but you swear you hear someone yell _“Ice bolt!”_  as they stretch out their arm.

You point towards them. “What are they doing?”

Peter follows your finger and chuckles when he sees what’s grabbed your attention. “LARP. Or live-action role-play. I’m sure if you dressed up in your robes, you’d fit right in,” he teases.

You laugh. “I think I’d like to try joining one day. It looks fun. You should do it with me.”

“Ah, I don’t know…”

“And Ned! I’ll bring it up tonight!”

Long-story short, after watching  _Episode VI_ , the search online for the next LARP session in Central Park begins. You and Ned are more than enthusiastic about participating in one of them, and even though Peter  _had_  been a little skeptical at first, the excitement radiating from the two of you is contagious, and his wariness is quickly forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> fight scenes are hard af, i admire all y’all who write them regularly. teach me yo wayssss


End file.
